Assassination X Magician X Pixie
by SoundzofSilence
Summary: When I became a Blacklist Hunter, I swore I would never take a job that involved assassinating Hisoka. Yet here I am, stuck in such a situation. FML…M for verbal vulgarity and violence, but mainly for Hisoka's presence.
1. In Which I Smell Like French Vanilla

_Author's Confession: Yes, I intentionally posted this story on Halloween. So sue me. (Please don't. It's a pain.) Anyway, onto the disclaimers: anyone claiming I own Hunter x Hunter should have his or her head checked and should be admitted to multiple therapy sessions. With the exception of the quotes from Hunter x Hunter, Nen, Hisoka, the inclusion of a Death Note notebook and a few other references here and there, everything else came straight out of my overactive imagination. Enjoy! _

_Rated M for verbal vulgarity, plenty of violence and descriptive death scenes, later sexual content, but mainly rated M for Hisoka's presence. Because he's just that explicit._

* * *

Chapter Title: _In Which I Smell Like French Vanilla_

**Blacklist Hunter X Proposition X Newbie**

_"Only a person who is really hated by others gets killed by an assassin." ~Killua Zaoldyeck_

My index finger idly circled the lip of my tea cup, and I sighed, my other hand supporting my chin. My next client sure was taking his or her sweet time and wasting mine. Here I was, seated at a table outside a local coffee shop, bored out of my mind when I could be improving on my shooting accuracy, perfecting the Dark Step, or training my Nen. I sighed again.

Unless this person had an interesting offer, his or her tardiness would cost them. Literally. But how many zeroes to add?

Smirking, I grabbed the tea cup and lifted it to my lips, sipping the bitter drink. A man—blonde-haired, brown-eyed, five foot eight in height, and weighing approximately one hundred and eighty pounds—paused in his tracks and stared at me before approaching the table.

"Pardon my asking, but are you…by any chance, the Pixie?"

My eye twitched at the nickname. Ah, a newbie. That explained his inability to find me. "Why yes," I said politely and sweetly through gritted teeth. "Please have a seat. Did Tsukasa tell you to call me a pixie?"

The blonde-haired newbie picked up on my displeasure and squirmed a little in the metal chair. "Yes, he, um…did. Was I not supposed to call you that?"

That ass…I'll get even with him for telling an incompetent messenger to call me by that degrading nickname. Just because he was the head of the Blacklist Hunters and my boss did _not_ give him the right to harass me!

"Yes." In the mean time, I had to be patient with the new guy. "Please refrain from calling me a pixie or mocking my short stature. I tend to kill people when that happens."

Although I spoke in a calm, nonchalant tone, Blondie went pale and his hands began fidgeting even more. He was almost quaking in his brown trench coat and black slacks. Any sympathy I might have felt for the man was dashed by the reminder that he had been twenty-three minutes late. If he had been more handsome or had Nen, I might have cut him slack. Ah well, onto business.

Seeing that a cat had my messenger's tongue, I leaned back in the chair, crossing my legs. "According to a little bird, you have an interesting proposition for me. Let's hear it." Picking up my tea cup, I patiently downed it as Blondie snapped out of his little trance.

"I, ah, yes! Yes, in fact, I do." Jerkily sitting up, he seemed to regain his confidence. Awfully fast, I might add. "You see, my client is offering 162,760,000,000 zeni if you kill the target and provide the head to confirm the target's death."

My eyebrows had shot up at the amount of currency. 162,760,000 zeni for one target? Unheard of! Antiques and rare items at the infamous York Shin auction were sold at those prices! Who was this unnamed human being who had such a heavy bounty looming over his or her head?

Suspicion kicked in. My green eyes narrowed. "Does the target have cotton-candy blue-colored hair?" I inquired warily. _That_ guy was the only one I knew of who had a ridiculous bounty for his pretty head. Well, other than the Zaoldyeck family but no one was insane enough to try and assassinate _them_. And if they were, they died trying.

"No," Blondie replied, looking a tad perplexed. "He has reddish-orange hair."

Good. The target wasn't Hisoka, but was a male. Inwardly, when I had first become a Blacklist Hunter, I had sworn to myself that I would never _ever_ take a job that involved assassinating Hisoka or the Zaoldyecks.

Reaching into the pocket of my jeans, I took out a small black notebook, removing the worn pink rubber band that held it shut. On the cover in silver letters and a fancy script, it said _Death Note_. It was from some foreign animated series, but I enjoyed carrying out a notebook I used to schedule and write information about my targets, targets who would die by my hand.

My pen poised above the paper. "Description?" I jotted down _male_.

Blondie's confidence quickly degenerated back to nervous fidgeting. His fingertips touched and separated repeatedly and he couldn't look at me for more than four seconds. Yes, I counted. The poor man was probably hoping I wouldn't suddenly lose my patience and kill him.

Part of me wanted to put him out of his misery and the other part felt too much pity for the poor, scared newbie, but _heavens above_! If he was going to be dealing with Blacklist Hunters or assassins on a regular basis, the man needed to grow a _spine_!

Clearing his throat, Blondie began rattling off facts. "Around six feet tall, in his late twenties or early thirties…um…"

"Weight?"

He shrugged. "No idea. Ah!" Recalling something, Blondie snapped his fingers. "He's a Hunter and a Nen-user."

I swear my eye twitched again. How could someone _forget_ such crucial information? Knowing if the target possesses or uses Nen requires different approaches and could mean the difference between life and death! Then again, this guy _was_ new. Patience…is a virtue.

"Do you know the Nen ability or recall what year this Hunter took the Exam? Or his number during the Hunter Exam?" I queried, scribbling down _Hunter_ and _Nen-user_ with asterisks beside both.

Knowing the Nen ability would give me an edge and allow me to factor that into my plans. Knowing what year or number for the Hunter Exam would give me a treasure trove of information. I would know _exactly_ who I was dealing with and what they are capable of.

The perplexed look returned, and Blondie shook his head from side to side. "Sorry, I wasn't told any of that." And the fool just admitted he was a messenger, a mouth piece for someone else.

"Is there any other information?" I glanced up and stared into his brown eyes. He was such a male Plain Jane and a spineless nervous wreck. Absolutely no appeal, physical or personality-wise. Such a pity.

He shook his head. "None that I can think of." He was lying.

I could see it in his manner—his eyes met mine, his fidgeting vanished and in a way, Blondie reminded me of a deer. A deer standing in a tranquil forest, staring at a sharp-toothed hunter and frozen, deciding whether to bolt or wait for the predator to seek more satisfying prey.

"Ah." Lowering my green eyes, I slowly shut the book with the pen inside it. My eyes darted up sharply. "How will I contact you to confirm I have the target's head?"

My guard went up as Blondie reached into his brown trench coat, and I tensed, prepared to snap his neck with my bare hands if he pulled out a weapon. It had happened. More than I care to remember and the frequency of those incidents had increased lately. Fortunately for Blondie, he pulled out a white business card and handed it to me.

I examined it carefully, flipping it over and over.

The only printed information was a single telephone number in black ink, rather pricey blank ink judging by the way the sun made the ink gleam. The quality of the paper—it too was a higher grade. Thicker but softer.

"Your organization pays well," I said, appraising. The way Blondie spluttered in astonishment made me smile. "They've been in business for some time, have a stable foundation, and are not terribly concerned with money despite the current worldwide economic dip." Not if this organization could afford to print fancy business cards that nearly rivaled thick, small silk handkerchiefs.

"Y-You're right," Blondie mumbled, stammering and staring at me with undisguised awe.

Tucking the business card into the Death Note and slipping the black notebook into my pocket, I leaned forward and pinned the new guy to his seat with a glare. His fidgeting worsened immediately and he paled. Even his lips lost their color.

"You're a rotten liar." My voice was firm and hard to grab Blondie's attention. "There is a catch to this deal, isn't there? If you want my consent, start talking. Otherwise I am out and you can inform your superiors of your failure. I highly doubt your rich and sly organization is as forgiving as I am, newbie." The last line was more my self-pity for the newbie speaking.

The poor guy looked like he was having a minor seizure. From what I could tell, a lot of his muscles had gone rigid and were shaking pretty violently. His color had literally drained from his pasty skin, and his brown eyes spoke of vacancy. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, and strange choked noises came spilling out of his mouth. A panic attack? How annoying. The newbie was starting to attract attention from passersby.

I sighed.

Standing, I grabbed my tea cup and pried open his lips with my free hand, pouring the cold, bitter drink into his mouth. At first, he choked and coughed it out, spraying my nice crimson short-sleeve blouse, my new black leather jacket, and my navy-blue jeans. The rest dribbled down his chin. His shaking stopped as he coughed, one hand over his mouth, but his complexion remained unusually pallid.

With an irritated sigh, I retreated into the coffee shop to return the tea cup in exchange for water in a small plastic cup and a handful of napkins. Splashing water on Blondie's face, I dropped the empty cup and began dabbing the dampest areas on my clothing. Namely my blouse.

"Damn it," I growled under my breath. Smelling like French Vanilla was _not_ on my agenda.

"You're not the only one."

"What are you talking about?" I snapped, confused and irritable. My hand pressed a napkin against my stained crimson blouse, and, turning my head, I glowered at Blondie. Screw mercy and forgiveness. Maybe I _would_ just kill him.

Blondie flinched before running a hand down his face, wiping off the water. "There are other Blacklist Hunters and assassins being hired. It's like…like a…like a competitive, sick game of sorts. The offer is open to any competent killer, but not only do you have to worry about the target but your fellow competitors killing you."

I shrugged. "That's normal in this business." The shaking of his head from side to side implied otherwise.

Slicking back his damp hair with one hand, Blondie frowned. "This one is supposed to be worst to date. My organization is placing a bounty price on all participants, and for each competitor you knock off, the higher your bounty."

"That's stupid," I blurted out, replacing the sodden napkin with a new one. "Why would any intelligent assassin or Hunter want to raise their bounty? That's like skinny dipping in red paint and running down the streets of York Shin, screaming 'I'm over here. Kill me now.'"

"Lower level mercenaries who lack the skill necessary to kill the target or desperate people will kill off the competition to get that person's bounty. All participants will be informed they are free to eliminate competition, but they won't be aware that their own bounty will rise in proportion to their kills," Blondie explained, grabbing a napkin off the glass tabletop. He wiped his face and continued, "The organization hopes to save money and wipe out the incompetent assassins."

I nodded, thoughtful, as I crumbled the napkin in my fist. "Makes sense…How do you know this?" He was a newbie, Nen-less, and a shivering, pathetic excuse of a man. What made him privy to this undisclosed knowledge?

Blondie rubbed the back of his head with an awkward, nervous smile. "I…have my methods."

Well, he wasn't _entirely_ hopeless.

Stuffing the wadded napkins into the empty cheap, plastic cup, I tossed the cup into the trash can. "Your proposal _is_ interesting as promised; however, it sounds too much like assisted suicide and I plan on killing a lot more people."

Truthfully, this job wasn't my style—hunting while being hunted by anyone in a faceless crowd. I preferred stealth, poison, and quick or impersonal kills. Not long, drawn-out affairs and paranoia.

Blondie's gauche smile faded into a half-hearted, disappointed one. "That's a, um…shame, Miss Blacklist Hunter," he told me, his hands moving restlessly. "You seem like an ideal candidate for this assignment."

Yeah, I was _totally_ ready to be massacred at a moment's notice.

Ignoring that last comment, I shot Blondie a wry half-smile and said, "Later." I walked away from the little coffee shop and blended in with the tourists and citizens.

As I buttoned up my leather jacket, my nose caught a hint of French Vanilla.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Tsukasa, head of the Blacklist Hunters, sniffed the air and wrinkled his olive-colored nose when I walked into the room. He arched his black eyebrows. "Remember the tip I gave you about using odorless soaps, lotions, and deodorant? Or avoiding perfumes?" He sat in a brown leather swivel chair at the head of a long, polished wooden table. Empty swivel chairs lined the sides of the table.

"Do you find the smell of French Vanilla offensive?" I inquired innocently as I shut the door. "Your messenger boy didn't. By the way, you're an asshole."

My boss waved his hand dismissively. "That's old news. By the way, he wasn't my messenger boy. That guy is with Intelligence Corporation."

Ah, so my guess wasn't far off. Intelligence Corporation is a wealthy business that manufactures weapons for Nen users and is rumored to have links to the Mafia and other underground groups. Small wonder Blondie was surprised at my accuracy.

"Did you accept?" His small hazel-gray eyes gazed at me with unnerving intensity.

I smiled cheekily. "I splashed water in his face."

One side of his lips tugged upward in a half-smile before he drummed his fingertips on the table, giving me this funny look. "You said no, but I received a phone call from Intelligence Corp and they claim you said yes."

B-But I distinctly remember telling Blondie that I—

My lips pressed together in a grim, thin line before I growled, "_Blondie._"

"Lied to save his own ass," finished Tsukasa, sighing. "Are you really surprised, Miko? His choices were pretty slim—die by your hands or the organization's hands. He managed to open a third option—cheating death."

I scowled, crossing my arms under my chest. "Whatever. I'll just kill this guy, lop off his pretty head, send it packaged in a brightly-colored box to Intelligence Corp, and collect my money." Get my two hundred dollars and pass Go. Then get on with life. "Now that I'm involved, I might as well check out who this mystery man is. The reward money is pretty choice."

"According to Intelligence Corp, your target has scheduled a reservation for tonight at the Rosetta Restaurant," my boss informed me, standing. "Be there by seven to grab your reserved table. If you're ten minutes late, you're on your own."

Bending down, he momentarily disappeared under the table. Seeing the silver glint and hearing the familiar sound of air being cut, I quickly stepped to the side and avoided catching the knife with one of my thighs. Tsukasa stood up like he hadn't just tried to hit my femoral artery and kill me. "I believe that was yours." Ah, he'd kept my knife from a previous encounter. I'd been wondering where that knife had vanished to...

"Thanks," I said sweetly, "but you're still an ass."

He tapped the gaudy silver watch on his wrist. "Better get going. You have less than four hours to prepare."

Dropping to a crouch, I retrieved my knife and tucked it back into the sling on my wrist; the sling was hidden in the right sleeve of my leather jacket. "So?"

"Your make-up artist is going to need all the time she can get to make your ugly mug look tolerable. Wouldn't want all the people in the restaurant to run out screaming, now would you?"

Needless to say, my boss and I engaged in a vicious impromptu sparring match. Unfortunately, he won _again_ which is a major reason why he is head of the Blacklist Hunters. However, when I left the meeting room with a slam of the door at least two hours later, the furniture was unsalvageable, my boss had a black eye, and I walked out with my bottom lip bleeding and several new cuts in my clothes.

And I had just bought this black leather jacket, damn it!


	2. In Which I Have a Tantrum

Chapter Title: _In Which I Have a Tantrum_

**Rosetta Restaurant X Bloodlust X Kid's Menu**

"_But as a genius, she's sometimes impulsive." ~Sototsu, the First Examiner_

My fingers wrapped around the handle of the gold-plated door for the Rosetta Restaurant, and I tugged, expecting the door to open enough for me to slip through. My arm jerked but the door didn't budge.

A warm, embarrassed flush spread on my cheeks.

So the door was heavier than I anticipated…and I looked like an idiot. But I'd look like a greater idiot if I kept standing here, blushing, with my hand on the handle.

Bracing my heels against the cement, I gave the heavy door a hard yank and stumbled back, nearly tripping and falling on my ass as the door obligingly opened. Cool air rushed out, blowing the long blonde strands of my wig behind my shoulders. Shyly, I stepped in on the deep crimson rug which led from the doorway to a dark, wooden semi-circle reception desk.

Beneath the blood-red rug, the flooring was black-and-white checkered tile much like a chess board; the white marble walls seemed so clean, so white that I would've sworn that they glowed softly. An elegant electric chandelier hung from the ceiling, its lights turned low. Realistic, beautiful marble statues stood poised in corners, in coves, and along the walls. Holy shit, were the wall crown moldings covered with gold leafing?

I admit my mouth fell open a little. My target sure had expensive taste!

A soft sniff caught my attention.

It had come from a pompous-looking host behind the reception desk. Even dressed in a black tuxedo, he looked like a greasy rat. His beady green eyes watched me with disdain, and his abnormally long, thin nose reminded me of a rodent's. Height about five foot seven. Weight approximately one hundred and forty…oh, two? Give or take a few pounds. The host was fairly gaunt and hawkish. Oh, he had slicked back chestnut hair and a pathetic, thin French mustache.

I approached the desk, stumbling once when my heel caught on the carpet. "Um…Seven o'clock reservation for Matsumoto." Well, that was the last name Tsukasa had told me to use to introduce myself at the Rosetta.

"Ah." His nostrils flared slightly and the contemptuous look did not lessen. "Please follow me, Miss Kohana."

I blinked. Did he just call me…?

Rat-Face misunderstood my surprise. "Would you prefer that I address you as Miss Matsumoto?"

Way to make me feel old. "No thank you, sir," I replied politely and softly like a well-mannered rich brat. On the inside, however, the urge to kill Tsukasa resurged. That asshole! Giving me a name meaning 'little flower' was as bad as calling me a pixie or fairy! And there was no way I could get back at him!

By the time we ascended the ornate, white marble grand staircase, my temper had cooled. Screw Tsukasa. I needed to calm down, play my rich-brat role, and pay attention like a professional Blacklist Hunter should. After all, this was a contract and I wanted to eliminate the target as quickly as possible. Red-haired male…who would the lucky man be?

Rat-Face stopped beside a white-clothed table, pulling out a chair. I hardly noticed the gesture. Stopped dead in my tracks, I was too busy staring in disbelief at my unwelcome companion—a colleague dressed in a navy-blue tuxedo, his arms crossed. He scowled. "You're late."

Yukio Genji.

We had taken the Hunter Exam the same year and had passed but during the entire Exam we'd tried to kill each other. No joke. He didn't like me and the feeling was mutual. He was rude, arrogant, insensitive, and had a thick vein of luck going for him.

I poked my tongue at him and lightly replied, "Couldn't be helped. You know, with traffic and all." As I said this, I perched on the chair Rat-Face had pulled out and allowed him to push the chair in. I looked up at Rat-Face and, keeping my green eyes wide, said, "Thank you" in a polite, soft tone.

Generally, after this display, adults would smile back and comment on how well-mannered and cute I was; grandparents even pinched my cheeks, but not Rat-Face. He simply handed me a menu, saying a waiter would return with a glass of water. I think he sensed something was up between Yukio and me.

Why the hell _was_ he here?

"Looks like you still haven't graduated from junior high," Yukio mentioned when Rat-Face was a few tables away. His silver-gray eyes watched me with lazy observance.

Keeping my hand low to the table, I shot him the bird before grabbing a napkin and placing it on my lap. I smoothed out the wrinkles. "So…I guess this is what most people would consider a date?" Of course, Tsukasa had failed to mention anyone else would be at the Rosetta Restaurant while I scouted out my target. I really had to pay more attention to that guy and what he said. Or what he _didn't_ say. "What's your name this time?"

Yukio's head dipped in a slight nod. "Kana Inoue."

My mouth dropped open and a noise of indignity escaped. "That ass," I grumbled. "Why couldn't I be named something nice like Kimi?" Why is Yukio assigned an alias that means 'powerful' while I'm stuck with 'little flower'? There's no justice in the world…

"Or perhaps something more befitting of your character like Inari," Yukio suggested nonchalantly.

"I prefer 'little flower' over 'shrimp' any day of the week," I shot back coolly. "You, on the other hand, should have been named Kiraina."

Yukio didn't react to the verbal barb. It was as if it had whizzed right over his combed black hair. This pissed me off. Very few retorts or snide comments I said had any visible effect on Yukio. Back during the Exam, I had theorized that Yukio's Nen ability was an invisible barrier that caused objects and words to bounce off. Either that or my aim had sucked back then. Kami, Tsukasa sure has a twisted sense of humor—setting me up on an imaginary date with my rival as a cover-up while I observe my target. Was it really necessary for him to send Yukio? Really?

But I wanted to make sure that was his real objective, not just me assuming.

Since Yukio didn't insult me back, I quietly hissed, "What are you doing here, you asshole? If you think you can cut into my-" I stopped abruptly, hearing someone's muffled footsteps. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I saw a brown-haired man in a black tuxedo bearing a platter with a water-filled glass on it.

A waiter set a tall, ice-filled glass of water on the table before me. "Are you prepared to order, Miss?" Yukio had been saved by the impeccable timing of our waiter. For now. In the mean time, I had to play nice.

At the waiter's words, I blushed a little, embarrassed to be caught off guard.

Whoops. Hadn't even _glanced_ at the menu yet.

But when I did look, I wished I hadn't.

On the other side of the table, Yukio or Kana quickly covered his mouth with one hand, not-so-quietly sniggering and chortling as I sat there, staring down at the menu in my hands. The _kid's_ menu.

_F. My. Life._

I was _twenty-one_ years old, damn it, and nearly everyone I encountered assumed I was twelve or thirteen years old! It's not _my_ fault that my aura nodes had opened at an early age! I hadn't even discovered I had unlocked them until two trainers had approached me with questions. Plus it's not my fault that _Ten _prevents this aura or Nen from leaking like that of a Nenless (or should I say Nen-ignorant) person, thus slowing the aging process!

Because I unconsciously discovered Nen early in my life, I'm cursed to look twelve for years and years!

Yukio's obnoxious snickering grated on my nerves. Ugh, today was _not_ my day.

First, Blondie sprays French Vanilla tea all over my clothes and volunteers me for a contract I'd refused, then Tsukasa ruins my new leather jacket, after that, my make-up artist forces me into a pink sparkly dress and blonde wig, then Yukio appears out of the blue, and now I get handed a kid's menu.

Why couldn't I disappear? Why? Why couldn't the floor just open up, swallow me, and spit me back out on the first floor?

The waiter gently touched my shoulder. "Miss, is something the matter?"

I _really_ wanted to chop off his hand. How dare this bastard hand me a kid's menu so carelessly and then have the stones to ask what the hell was the matter! I should cram this menu down his throat. In fact, I could do it. I was certainly capable.

Clearing my throat, I shook my head, more to clear it from the bloodlust than to silently say no. "Sorry, I spaced out. I'll have the steak—medium well-with the macaroni and side of salad. Caesar, please." Handing the menu to the clueless waiter, I silently prayed that he would leave before I became too tempted to kill him again.

I hadn't been kidding when I informed Blondie that I tended to kill people who mocked me, be it my childlike looks or the fact I was vertically challenged.

'Cute but dangerous' as my Nen trainers had often said.

While the waiter queried Yukio's choice of meal (the jerk had an adult menu), my green eyes focused on the table's centerpiece—a corked bottle of wine, a Pinot Noir, beside a lit tall, thin white candle, a vase with a red and a white rose, and the customary salt and pepper shakers. Rather romantic if one ignored the shakers. What a pity that this date was a pretense and I hated my date's guts…and the waiter's. In fact, I could do something creative with the waiter's guts…Then I realized what I was thinking and that my Nen had responded to my emotions by clouding the waiter with malevolence.

No, no! Fall into the rich brat façade, not hunting mode!

But the poor man had already sensed my ill will in my bloodlust and his sense of self-preservation was kicking in. "I will, uh, be bac—I mean, return with your-your…orders," the waiter stammered. He beat a hasty retreat, power-weaving around the tables to the safety of the kitchen. If I hadn't been in this restaurant on business, I could have leapt from table to table and jumped him if I wanted.

A balled up napkin bounced off my cheek, and I glared at my date, Kana (aka the jerk named Yukio).

My fellow Hunter was unfazed. "Calm down. He's just doing his job." This translated to: control your emotions and your bloodlust; act like a professional.

"He doesn't have to do it so well," I growled irritably. Now that ordering food was out of the way, I could focus on searching for a red-headed man whose head was worth 162,760,000,000 zeni. Hopefully he wasn't handsome. Killing good looking men was such a waste. After a few deep breaths, my eyes performed a visual sweep over the area for red-headed males. That way I didn't have to stare at Yukio's ugly mug. Not many men or women were gingers which meant the target would stick out like—ah ha!

My eyes locked onto the first red-head in the room, and what do you know? A male! Continuing my visual sweep and spotting two red-headed women, it confirmed that there was only one guy in this joint with reddish-orange hair—the target.

The swell of triumph in my chest quickly went cold when I saw the man's face.

Hisoka.

No way…I-It couldn't be _him_! I mean, since when was Hisoka a ginger! Last time his long, gravity-defying hair had been cotton-candy blue!

But as I studied his pointy aristocratic features in hopes of discovering it was an imposter, I knew my hopes were in vain. The red-headed man wearing a red-and-black plaid suit seated several tables away was the one and only Hisoka. The psychotic magician actually looked civil with his usually unruly hair combed and hanging down.

What an impeccable time he chose to pull an appearing act!

B-But there was no way I would accept that _Hisoka_ was the _target_! I swore an oath that I would _never_ attempt to assassinate that nutcase!

Desperately, I surveyed the room again, praying for another red-headed man to come walking up the grand staircase. But no dice. No one came up. My green eyes painfully landed on Hisoka once again, and the gears in my mind began piecing together the jumbled puzzle of information.

How had this happened?

I had sworn up and down to never try to kill Hisoka, but if Hisoka was the target, then that meant—

Yukio finished my thoughts aloud, "Yes, we've been set up. Stop looking around and then staring at him. It's suspicious." After a considerate pause, he added, "I've never seen you lose your color so quickly, Miko." It surprised me he used my real name. Was Yukio concerned? Surprised?

I sighed. "That guy unnerves me. He has extraterrestrial senses and deadly intuition. Not only that, but he refers to people as _toys_ and _fruit_. Who does that?"

"He does."

"I was referring to _sane_ people, Kana."

My colleague had no answer for that question, but the waiter returned with our appetizers. Keeping my head downcast and eyes focused on the table, I ignored the waiter as he set a dainty salad before me and a steaming soup before Yukio. His hands trembled when he placed the salad before me like a sacrifice, but my killing edge had been effectively doused by Hisoka's presence.

Killing edge…

I swear I almost had a heart attack on the spot.

Hisoka had an extraordinary talent for picking up on Nen, especially when it was tainted with bloodlust. It got his senses tingling and 'excited' him. And by 'excited', I mean, his bloodlust was triggered and then he killed that person to satisfy his craving for blood and heighten his excitement. It was a wonder Hisoka hadn't taken notice of me!

But what if he had…?

Any color I had left drained from me completely, and the sight of my salad on the table made my stomach churn. My insides and skin felt cold, so frozen and hard like a thick block of ice had formed in me. Like I would never feel warm again.

If Hisoka had noticed me, I was as good as dead. My chances of surviving a battle against Hisoka were comparable to a snowball's chance in Hell. I wouldn't win. Although he was insane, the magician had plenty of advantages in his hand—superior physical strength, an incredibly annoying Nen ability, an equally frustrating fighting style, and did I mention he was a bona fide loony?

If he came after me, I was royally _screwed_.

I had to get out of here. Like _now_!

A pair of hands landed on my shoulders and kept my butt down in my seat. "Miss Kohana, please don't get up. Take deep breaths and calm down. Close your eyes and breathe in over the span of four seconds," someone—a man—instructed. Anxiety bled into the undertones of his calm voice. Why was my visual range so narrow like a tunnel?

I didn't want to listen to the voice of reason. I had to run, run and hide before that psychotic clown sliced me to ribbons with his card attacks. But my head—it felt so light and…and bubbly like sparkling champagne. Mmm, champagne.

The man counted, "One…two…three…four. Now hold it. One…two…three…four…" I obeyed, only because I was panicking when I realized that I was losing control.

This exercise sounded familiar…but I couldn't recall where I'd heard it before.

"Exhale. One…two…three…four…Hold. One…two…three…four…"

Oh, combat breathing. When my Nen trainers asked what kind of Hunter I planned to become and I replied Blacklist, they taught me this breathing technique.

"Inhale. One…two…three…four…"

It forced your fight-or-flight response to cool its jets, and it forced your body to relax. Other professions like police officers, fire fighters, nurses, and Hunters were taught this technique so they could approach a hectic situation with a cool head.

"Hold…two…three…four. Exhale…two…three…four…"

The chunk of ice in my chest rapidly melted into oblivion, my visual scope returned to normal, and I could actually feel someone firmly gripping my shoulder. I tilted my head to look up, surprised when I saw the blonde-haired, blue-eyed waiter—not our waiter—who owned the calming, deep voice.

His frown was pretty pronounced. "Are you alright, Miss Kohana?"

"I think I'll live." My voice sounded quiet and raspy like a frog had nestled in my throat. My hand reached for the glass of water but I found it already held out toward me. By _Yukio_, of all people! Cautiously, I accepted it and downed it, my green eyes on Yukio the entire time. His expression was unreadable. Not even the corners of his lips or the edges of his eyes betrayed any emotion.

I set the mostly empty glass on the table. It made a faint, muffled _clink_ when it hit the cloth-covered table with more force than I'd intended. But in that clink, my brain clinked too. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, revealing a very fugly picture.

It all made sense now…

Blondie hadn't been fidgety because he was _nervous. _Au contraire, he had been freaked out that I would figure out the target's identity and kill him before he could report back to Intelligence Corporation and spit out a lie that I had accepted the deal. Which I hadn't.

"_You seem like an ideal candidate for this assignment."_

It explained Blondie's mini seizure or panic attack when I had implied I would murder him.

Had Tsukasa known in advance that my target was Hisoka? If he had, it justified the funny look he'd given me when he informed me that Blondie's organization claimed I had accepted the offer. Had he thrown my knife back at me as a silent warning to be on my guard?

And Yukio…Knowing Hisoka was the target, had Tsukasa sent my old rival to this restaurant as my guard? Was he here to throw off Hisoka in the event that the magician picked up on our presence via Nen? Was Yukio my back-up if a potential battle ensued? Or was he to protect me by preventing me from doing anything unusually dim-witted?

He _did_ throw that wadded-up napkin at my face when I'd been on killing edge. Then again, because Yukio had seen Hisoka in advance and was aware of his presence, Yukio had probably tried to knock me off my edge to save his own ass rather than protect mine.

"_Calm down. He's just doing his job."_

I mean, if Hisoka had looked over and extended his senses, he would have been able to tell that Yukio and I were both trained Nen-users. Then Hisoka would have taken an interest and, since it seemed unlikely he would attack us in this high-class eatery, the mad magician would stalk one of us and initiate a battle.

And, because today had been particularly sucky for me, I wouldn't be surprised if Hisoka chose me using eeny, meeny, miny, moe.

That was worst-case scenario.

"Sir, I feel I must apologize for this unnecessary inconvenience," my would-be date suddenly mentioned. "It was completely avoidable. Kohana had warned me she felt under the weather but I insisted that all she needed was fresh air. I'm sorry."

Wow. Kudos for subtlety. Did this mean Yukio had taken the hint and we were leaving?

The waiter took the bait. "It is not a problem, Mister Inoue. If you would like, I can have your meals boxed and bring you the receipt."

Yukio nodded in approval, smiling. "A novel suggestion—one I believe I will follow." I would've stood up and gotten a head start toward the entrance, but my legs felt watery and were trembling. I doubted they could support me right now, not after that panic attack. My index and middle fingers overlapped, crossing. When the waiter returned with our boxed food, hopefully I could stand on my own and beat a hasty retreat out of this restaurant.

"The boxes will arrive at your table with the receipt," the waiter informed him, completely ignoring me. He smelled money. "Please pay downstairs at the reception desk."

"Alright. Will you place our boxes in separate bags?" Yukio was laying it on thick now, smiling and getting animated; he even gestured 'separate' by placing his hands near each other and then moving them far, far away from each other. What a loving 'boyfriend'.

With a quick nod, the waiter dismissed himself which left me and Yukio alone once again, me sipping on water. His fingers drummed on the table in an unusual display of impatience. He glanced over in Hisoka's direction and quickly averted his gaze with a quiet but harsh curse.

"You've piqued his curiosity," he informed me dryly. "I hope you're satisfied."

Lowering the glass from my lips, I stuck out my tongue at him. "I believe I piqued plenty of curiosity, especially since the waiter was reminding me how to breathe and you were holding out my glass." A likely possibility but that didn't stop my skin from crawling. That creepy magician had his eyes on us right now.

Yukio's response was a dubious yeah-right snort.

Minutes ticked by. I finished off the water in my glass and resorted to sucking on the ice. Yukio's fingers continued their restless drumming. Once again, I seriously considered leaping out of my seat and making a rush for the entrance. To hell with social rules and lying low! I wasn't ready to die just yet! The only thing that kept me in my seat were my wobbly legs. Even if I did jump up, I'd probably fall flat on my face and make a spectacle of myself, which would focus Hisoka's attention solely on me. I clenched my jaw. Nothing I could do but wait...

The moment my colleague spotted the waiter exiting the kitchen doors, he stood, made his way around the table, and offered me a hand. I chose not to refuse it. As I pointed out before, I wasn't sure how well my legs would carry my weight right now. I changed my mind when his arm looped around my waist, but by then it was too late. Yukio herded me toward the waiter and grabbed the bags, flashing a smile and throwing a "thank you" out there.

Our descent down the grand staircase was a blur. Releasing me, he headed toward the reception desk. A nervous glance at the staircase assured me that Hisoka wasn't coming after us. Turning my head, I noticed Yukio hand the receptionist money from a familiar, thin wallet. My _wallet_.

When had he…? How had he known my wallet was hidden on the back of my neck under my thick, long blonde wig? I scowled. Some things never changed. Like the fact he was a rude, insensitive asshole. Or that I harbored an intense loathing toward him.

Yukio briskly strode to me and wrapped his right arm around my waist. "Let's go," he murmured under his breath. I found myself herded out the exit and standing by the street curb. A few couples wandered along the sidewalk or a lonesome figure shuffled along while cars and taxis lined up on the blacktop, held up by a red light.

Yukio pulled his arm away and handed me my bag, dropping my wallet in my free hand. "Use that to get home."

"You're a real winner, alright," I sniffed. "Making _me_ pay for everything."

His impassive façade slipped, and Yukio outright glared at me. "Why not? You _should_ pay for almost getting us _killed_. He stared at us for the last five minutes and now he knows my face because I'm not wearing a fucking disguise!"

My eyes widened. Oh shit. He was right!

It didn't occur to me that Yukio hadn't bothered to wear contacts to cover his light silver-gray eyes. Or dye, cut, or conceal his long, black hair which he had worn in his customary ponytail, which was tied a few inches from the end. Even the two or three short strands of hair that hung down to his eyebrows appeared normal to me.

So normal that I hadn't considered the potential danger Yukio was in.

Hisoka could track him down with much more ease by searching the Hunter website or asking around. Blacklist Hunters aren't very popular, and in the assassination business, people of integrity are few and far in-between. Someone would definitely rat him out.

Then again… "It's not my fault you were a dumbass," I shot back. "Weren't you the one during the Exam who was always chiding me with 'expect the unexpected'?"

His arm shot out in a blur, his hand stopping on my throat as his fingers curled around my neck tightly. We stood there mutely, engaged in an electrified staring contest—silver-gray eyes locked with bright green. Yukio had no reason not to kill me. He would be doing himself a favor if he did knock me off—less competition. If Hisoka didn't get to one of us first.

"Who was the dumbass who threw a temper tantrum over a kid's menu?" Yukio asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Is it above your level of maturity to politely _ask_ for an adult's menu? You may have a child's body but that's no excuse to act like one."

Ouch.

I glowered back at him, and spoke in a cold, flat voice, "If you're going to kill me, do it now. If not, release me and let me be on my way because we're both giving Hisoka ample time to kill us both right here."

Yukio loosened his grip, giving my neck a slight shove before withdrawing his hand completely. My throat tingled; it felt as though his fingers were still wrapped around my throat. Scowling, he whirled around and stalked away down the sidewalk, emanating a deadly aura—bloodlust.

I stuck out my tongue at his retreating figure before hailing down a taxi. Climbing in, I gave the driver the address for a motel where I would change out of this annoying pink gown and stupid long blonde wig in a bathroom. From there, I would take another taxi to drop me off near my real base of operation—an apartment complex.

Little did I know that tonight was the last time I would ever see Yukio Genji alive.

* * *

**Name meanings:**

Kohana: _little flower_

Yukio: _gets what he wants_

Kana: _powerful_

Kimi: _she who is without equal_

Inari: _shrimp_

Kiraina: _detestable_

**Side note: that breathing technique actually works and is called combat breathing. Learned it in psychology class. Go ahead and try it. I dare you.**


	3. In Which I am at the Point of No Return

Random note and disclaimer: _Past the Point of No Return _by Andrew Lloyd Webber and _Hells Bells _by ACDC inspired the titles.

* * *

Chapter Title: _In Which I am at the Point of No Return_

**Requiem X Survivor X Hells Bells**

"_This is the job I have. I'm used to having grudges held against me." ~Killua Zaoldyeck_

"Blacklist Hunters who sleep heavily die in their sleep," someone whispered softly, their breath tickling my ear.

Reflexively, I swatted at the intruder but my hand only met air, not skin. In that time frame, I opened my eyes, fully alert, and shifted so my upper body weight leaned on my elbow.

Tsukasa crouched on the corner of the mattress, his elbows resting on his knees, watching me. The dim lighting and his black outfit created the illusion that he had stepped out of a shadowy otherworld. The whites of his eyes stood out eerily. "Yukio Genji is dead."

"Good morning to you too," I replied wryly. Despite the callous response, my throat went dry. I had a feeling that I was _very_ lucky to be alive.

My boss disregarded my comment, adding, "Hisoka murdered him last night in a duel. Fortunately for Yukio, other assassins involved in the contract followed the target and managed to inflict minor damage to Hisoka's person during the battle. They were slain too."

I…I couldn't look at Tsukasa's face. Instead, my eyes focused on his bent kneecaps.

In my mind I could hear Blondie saying, _"There are other Blacklist Hunters and assassins being hired. It's like…like a…like a competitive, sick game of sorts. The offer is open to any competent killer, but not only do you have to worry about the target but your fellow competitors killing you."_

"What I wonder is why that crazy magician trailed Yukio," Tsukasa continued, musing aloud. His flat tone gave me goose bumps. "The only conclusion I can draw is that someone caught his eye. Only powerful opponents interest Hisoka."

"This is true."

Tsukasa was definitely angry. His leg muscles were tensed, poised for offensive or defensive although I had no intention of attacking him. Would he strike first? Could I reach the knife I hid behind the headboard in time if he chose to attack?

"Ah, well…Less competition to worry about," I added after a terse silence.

Tsukasa's Nen—it evaporated any remaining sleepiness in my system; it was as if I'd fallen into a deep, icy lake in the winter. He was definitely primed for an offensive. He had me at a disadvantage—weaponless, unprepared, and in a vulnerable position. Damn it all to hell!

His small hazel-gray eyes narrowed further. "Yukio was an elite Blacklist Hunter, one of the best."

"I know."

"And a close friend of mine," he finished, his tone colder and flatter than any physical weapon I'd ever handled.

And I had just blurted out an insensitive "oh well, less competition". Why couldn't I have just jammed my foot into my mouth? I found myself wishing I could vanish again. Just fall off the face of the earth where no ugly situations could find me.

"Until you or someone else fulfills this contract or if the contract is terminated, I am withholding all other assignments from you," Tsukasa declared, and I swear I could hear bells tolling outside the window, chiming a death knell for me. "I was prepared to allow you to back out last night, however, my gracious mood died with Yukio."

I lifted my eyes to meet his hard gaze. "I understand."

As the President of Blacklist Hunters and the strongest Blacklist Hunter to date, Tsukasa had the power to trap me in a contract like this, and there isn't a damn thing I could do about it. Except fulfill the contract or kill the contractors. And I had a feeling I wouldn't be receiving any help from Tsukasa or other Blacklist Hunters. No…I'd officially fallen out of his good graces.

From here on out, I was completely on my own.


	4. In Which I Go a Little Crazy

Chapter Title: _In Which I Go a Little Crazy_

**Scheming X Killing Season X Bungee Gum**

_"The state of mind where one doesn't know where one is being attacked from…This strains one's nerves the most." ~Killua Zaoldyeck_

After Tsukasa took his leave, it took an hour for me to relax. I spent that hour lying in the apartment bed, my index finger slowly running along the sharpened edge of a knife, the one that had been behind my headboard. Gazing at the morning light casting a glint and a shadow on the cool, flawless weapon helped. Seeing my warped reflection—a pale, wide-eyed childlike face framed by mussed-up auburn hair—didn't help.

Running the flat of the blade across my lips, I sheathed the blade and then showered, reflecting on the rather unattractive mess I'd stepped into.

_"Until you or someone else fulfills this contract or if the contract is terminated, I am withholding all other assignments from you."_

That ass had eliminated my sole source of income until the contract on Hisoka's head closed. And my salary is five or six figures per capita on average, depending on their bounty. Each person I capture or kill boosts the amount of money in my bank account. However, Tsukasa had limited me to killing Hisoka.

If I spent too much money, I couldn't earn any of it back with assassinations on the side. Not until Hisoka was dead.

Asshole…

I mean, I have millions of zeni—nearly one billion—in the bank so fiscal issues are nothing to be concerned about. At least, not _now_. But a foreseeable major problem was that this contract could last months, even years, especially with Hisoka as the target. Hunting that magician would drain my bank account quickly. That nutcase lived in style, like _high-class_ style.

Obviously, annihilating the contractors—ie. Intelligence Corp—would terminate the contract.

Not to mention bumping them off would be easier to do than confront Hisoka in a one-on-one duel. Finding the head honchos of Intelligence Corporation would be the interesting part. Not exactly an easy task when the people or person I have to hunt is connected to a shady, powerful organization like Intelligence Corporation…

An annoyed groan escaped my lips as I pulled a light pink halter top shirt over my head, yanking the bottom down to my waist.

The worst part of this situation was that it had been avoidable.

If only Blondie had overlooked me at that little coffee shop! If only I had listened to my impulses and had killed him when the opportunity had presented itself!

Clenching my jaw and growling to myself, I roughly pulled up and buttoned my black jeans. My hand snatched up a brush and dragged it through my wet shoulder-length hair. Any tangles caught in the brush were mercilessly unsnarled.

_Blondie…_

The next time I found him, Blondie was a _dead_ man.

The brush's handle snapped in my hand. Scowling fiercely, I dropped the useless thing in the trash bin. Then, using _Gyo_ to allow my eyes to see Nen, I leaned on the bathroom counter and glared at my reflection. She glared back, a greenish aura haloing her body; the green matched the color of her narrowed eyes.

I gave a little sniff, pushing myself off the counter. Scowling at a mirror wasn't going to solve my problems.

"We're not going after Hisoka," I told my mirror self, musing aloud. "Let's track down Blondie and see if we can't get any information out him…I'll go buy a little vial of that insanely expensive truth serum and give him a drop or two to get the info I want. Then we'll kill him."

My reflection smirked.

"Next, we hunt those Intelligence Corp assholes and help ease them into their graves. Then we're free!" I concluded happily, pumping a fist in the air. "We can go back to hunting dangerous criminals, law-breaking mercenaries, and rogue Hunters!"

The thought alone lifted my foul mood.

My reflection winked lasciviously and mouthed back at me, "Happy hunting."

Giggling excitedly to myself, I literally skipped out of the bathroom to grab some weapons before I headed to the library for some research. Killing season had officially opened.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

_Intelligence Corporation: weapon manufacturers who produce guns but specialize in the creation of expensive, high grade tools for Nen users; thought to be involved in the Black Market and deal extensively with the Mafia; participate in York Shin auctions; and, finally, each building has high-tech security systems (the Works). _

_They are still ridiculously wealthy despite the worldwide economic dip; also, they are rich enough to cough up big bucks for the bounties they place on the heads of the assassins they hire to kill Hisoka (or they simply raise the already existing bounties); Intelligence Corp is lead by a triumvirate, two males, one female._

_Male member of triumvirate: Higuchi Kimura—ex-Blacklist Hunter, Transformation type, specializes in fire; weight: approximately two hundred pounds; height: six feet tall; bald and has blue eyes._

_Other two members are unknown—will attempt to force info about coworkers out of Higuchi._

_Note to self: dispose of Blondie's corpse in a public location._

See what valuable information a little research and bribery can get? With any luck, heads would be rolling and I would be free as a song!

Satisfied with my report, I shut my Death Note with a smile and tucked the notebook in my pocket. My smile was quickly replaced by a scowl as I sensed a malicious aura.

Not another would-be assassin!

He or she probably thought they were terribly clever—sneaking up on me without thinking I would notice. Just like the last idiot who'd tried to kill me in the library restroom while my guard and pants were down. She ended up dead, hanging from a sprinkler head in the women's bathroom. The police evacuated everyone in the library which had disrupted my research but by that point, I had the information I wanted.

So the human-hunting season had officially opened not just for me, but every other agent involved in this kill-Hisoka contract…Things were about to get dangerous. And very interesting.

How would weaker assassins try to knock off the stronger ones without dying in the process?

I refrained from glancing over my shoulder to visually pinpoint my stalker. Weaker assassins tended to be skittish creatures—easily suspicious, paranoid, and darting into the shadows for cover at the first sign of trouble. Instead, I continued my leisure walk, my hands in my pockets. Beneath my halter top was a cloth belt that held today's weapon of choice—a small Kirpan, a curved dagger.

I found myself singing softly, "Do you know what's worth fighting for when it's not worth dying for? Does it take your breath away and you feel yourself suffocating? Does the pain outweigh the pride and you look for a place to hide?"

In the crowded street, my stalker seemed fairly confident I wouldn't spot them. Whoever it was closed the…hm, six foot? Yes, six foot gap separating us to about four feet. Just to screw with my follower a little, I stopped dead in my tracks in the middle of the sidewalk. Inwardly, I giggled when I felt their Nen vanish completely—an attempt to hide with _Zen_.

"Shit, did I forget my keys?" I asked myself out loud, my hands diving in and out of my pockets. First the front two jean pockets, then the back two, and finally one of the pockets inside my black leather jacket. "Ah ha! Found you!" Triumphantly, I took out my apartment and suitcase keys, jingling them before placing them back in my jacket pocket.

Phony crisis solved, I resumed walking. "One, twenty-one guns. Lay down your arms, give up the fight. One, twenty-one guns. Throw up your arms into the sky, you and I. When you're at the end of the road…and you lost all sense of control…and your thoughts have taken their toll and your mind breaks the spirit of your soul."

As I was singing under my breath and leading the stalker to the park so I could kill him, I sensed his or her Nen flare as they came out of _Zen_. Then their Nen just…disappeared. As if it had been snuffed out.

"Huh…" I mused, perplexed. This playful scenario had just shot up on the danger meter. Whoever had just offed my stalker was more experienced, stronger, and had killed my stalker while in _In_—an advanced form of _Zen_. Meaning they were either arrogant or powerful enough to risk a kill without the aid or protection of their Nen.

Unfortunately, with this new agent in _In_ mode, I can't sense him or her. Not good.

Not to mention my creative plot to kill the first stalker had been foiled! Hmph! I guess this new person could step into the first's shoes…Hopefully he or she knew how to dance. Killing them would be much more invigorating if they could dance.

I wonder if Tsukasa sent other Blacklist Hunters after me…or had advertised the huge bounty over my head. It wouldn't be beneath him to pull that stunt. Not when that ass was serious or pissed off.

Bounty…

Speaking of bounty, I probably should have decapitated that woman who assaulted me in the library bathroom. I could have sent her pretty little head to Intelligence Corporation in a nicely wrapped gift box in exchange for some zeni.

Ah ha! Eureka!

If I needed to replenish my zeni, I could hunt my fellow competitors and benefit from their deaths. Less competition _and_ blood money! What more could a sort-of exiled Blacklist Hunter ask for? This would be my new source of income! Take that, stupid Tsukasa!

With a snide bark of a laugh, I entered a dingy convenience store and walked up and down the labyrinth of aisles. Perhaps the new stalker would follow me in.

Pretzels, gummies, chocolate, caramel…My feet halted before the gum section of the candy aisle. My throat went dry as my eyes were snagged by a particular brand name. Bungee Gum—the last time I'd chewed on a piece was eight or nine years ago when my dad had bought me a six-pack for graduating sixth grade…My Nen trainer estimated my aura nodes opened that year…

I grabbed an original pack of Bungee Gum and held it, fondly caressing the colorful goofy letters with my thumb.

This was my only connection with my dad. I hadn't seen him or the rest of my family in seven years. I wouldn't let myself. As a Blacklist Hunter, family members could be kidnapped, tortured, or killed and to prevent that, I had faked my own death to completely disconnect myself from them. For their own protection.

I-I guess I could buy a pack…for old time's sake…

I mean, eight years is a long time and Bungee Gum was—still _is_—my favorite gum. I had yet to taste its equal. Sure the amazing flavor died away pretty quickly, but no other brand could match its elasticity. I used to drive my parents crazy when I would stick the gum to a piece of furniture and then walk backwards, holding one end of the gum to test the elasticity. Sometimes I would try to tie up my younger brothers with the stretchy stuff; dad would scold me while mom cut my brothers' hair…they would cry the entire time…

A sad, humorless chuckle reached my ears. _My_ chuckle. No one—other than the clerk—was in the store. Hold the phone…The tinkling of a bell signaled the opening of the front door, and a gruff voice inquired, "Have you seen a young, auburn-haired girl walk in here?"

"Yeah, just a couple minutes ago. Are you her father?" the clerk answered, clueless that she was engaging an assassin in conversation.

The man—probably in his forties—must have nodded. "She's hit that rebellious stage. I can't get her to stay near me because I'm too old to be cool. She doesn't understand how dangerous it is for a young girl to wander by herself."

Au contraire, I understood that danger perfectly. Catching or killing dangerous people is part of my job description as a Blacklist Hunter.

"Oh, I totally understand what you're going through," the clerk gushed sympathetically. I wanted to slap her. "My son just hit puberty and treats me like I'm infected with a contagious disease. He hardly comes out of his room because he's always on the computer." Gullible idiot…

My hand reached under my halter top shirt, my fingers wrapping around the Kirpan's handle. Looks like I'd get to use this baby after all. Which way would he approach the aisle? From the front or would he go down an aisle and try to catch me from behind?

"Do you know which aisle she's in?" my 'father' asked nicely.

I expected the clerk to say "the candy aisle" but the answer she gave the assassin was much worse than telling him my direct location: "Um, I don't know. She was kinda wandering through the aisles."

"Thank you for your help. I'll…take a look around. She might be hiding again."

"Why not call out her name?" suggested the ever-so-helpful clerk.

My fake father let out a gusty, tired sigh. "We've been through this little routine a few times today. Eliza won't answer no matter how many times I holler her name. Let me know if she tries to sneak out the front."

Damn it all.

"Oh. Okay."

Lips pressed in a grim line, I looked around for security cameras. Fortunately or unfortunately, this convenience store was so poor that there were no cameras mounted in the wall corners. I quietly slid the dagger from its sheath and pulled it out from under my shirt.

Dim-witted, naive clerk. My stalker had himself a helper. Not that he needed a sidekick. My 'father' had effectively erased himself from my Nen radar with _In_, and since he had stopped talking, that meant he was on the move. I crouched, my ears straining for any noise. The clerk tapping her fingers on the counter…the AC blowing…the refrigerators keeping beverages cool…the radio playing softly near the clerk's counter…

I couldn't hear him!

Clenching my jaw, I peered up at the tops of the aisles on my left and right. Nothing.

Quietly and carefully, with one hand, I removed my shoes and crept toward the back end of the aisle in my socks. My head peered out, looking left and right. Nothing, to my relief and dismay. The next aisle was empty. And the next. And the next.

Where the hell _was_ he?

I alternately glanced up at the tops of the aisles and at both ends, my palms sweaty. Okay, this was eerie and getting ridiculous. Put two assassins in a small convenience store and they should find each other pretty quickly, right? Apparently not. How was this gu—gaaah!

My eye happened to catch movement—someone's head pulling back—at the end of the aisle where my back had been turned. Totally lucky moment. I crouched there, shifting so my back faced away from the aisle. Where would this asshole attack from? My right where his head had popped up? The other side of the aisle on my left? Or would he be a crazy mo-fo and jump over the top?

The only barrier was the damn shelf…

Damn shelf…barrier…or it was an ingenious solution.

Tightening my grip on the Kirpan, I focused my aura in my legs. With my assassin using _In_, he couldn't sense what I was doing—a major downfall of _Zen _and_ In_. Pushing off the tile, I leapt at the shelf separating me and my assassin and tackled it, slamming into it with my left shoulder. Normally, with my small stature, the thing wouldn't have wobbled but with my Nen-enhanced strength, the entire shelf toppled over.

My assassin let out a surprised cry that transformed into a pain-filled howl. The clerk screamed shrilly. My left shoulder ached like a bitch, but I couldn't lay there and moan. He wasn't dead yet, only hurt. His brain was being overloaded with pain messages from his body. If he recovered, he could release his _In_ and use his Nen to push the shelf off his body and onto mine.

This was my window of opportunity.

Wincing as I used my left arm to lift my upper body, my green eyes met with hate-filled and pain-crazy amber eyes. He continued yelling, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. When he saw me, he began squirming, arching his back to escape and his Nen resurfaced.

Adrenaline and panic gripped me, and reflexively, I stabbed at his face.

The curved blade sank in easily through his nose as if I was piercing a chicken breast or beef, and stopped abruptly when it hit bone. Pulling the knife out, this time my hand drove it through his open mouth and into his throat. Damnit, why couldn't I hit one of his amber eyes! He would die instantly and stop gurgling so noisily!

The assassin thrashed his head, wrenching the knife out of my hand. His body convulsed. Apparently my blade had gone through his throat and had hit his spine. He made terrible gagging and choking noises like he was suffocating. Well, he _was_ suffocating. There was a heavy shelf on his chest, pressing the air out of his lungs and a lot of blood rushing down his nose and mouth.

I needed to end this quickly before cops showed up.

Pulling myself toward him, I grabbed the sides of his head. The slight hesitation all killers experience before they take a life hit me as I stared down at his mutilated, bloody face…and sharply twisted his head to the right. His neck snapped and the guy went limp instantaneously, his last choked sigh giving me the shivers.

Like Arthur drawing Excalibur from the Stone, I did the same with my Kirpan from the corpse's throat before wiping the flat sides of the blade in his hair to sorta clean it. Ow, damn, my left shoulder…Fortunately, it wasn't dislocated or broken, maybe fractured…but definitely bruised.

"Itai," I whimpered softly as I got to my feet shakily and glanced down. Looks like no blood splattered on my pink halter top, but it had gotten on the right sleeve and shoulder of the leather jacket.

Good thing it was black!

I saw two small distinct feet imprints indented into the cracked green tile. Pushing off the tile with enhanced strength had been too much for the flooring. The police would be all over that…

Enhancing the strength in my legs, I performed a stomp dance on those two tiles and four others beside them, smashing the evidence to pieces and grinding them under my heel. Sheathing the bloodied blade, I knew I'd have to clean it and the sheath later to prevent them from rusting.

Where did the packet of Bungee Gum go? I had it in my hand until…oh yeah, I'd set it down with my shoes in the candy aisle.

Tiptoeing over there in my socks, I mashed my feet into my sneakers, grabbed the Bungee Gum, and on a whim, a deck of cards.

The clerk had stopped screaming and was sobbing quietly, trying to muffle the noise. She had ducked behind the counter and for a moment, I experienced a flash of guilt. This wasn't how I had intended to get rid of the man. I had wanted to sneak up behind him, cover his mouth and slit his throat quietly. What had just happened…it didn't fit my style of killing.

That was brawling, not hunting.

I felt compelled to do something for the poor woman.

There was a phone on the wall behind the counter, but the clerk was probably too terrified to make a grab for it and call the police. Selecting a box of Dots, I chucked it at the phone and it fell off the hook, going _beep beep beep_, making the clerk shriek again.

"Pl-Please d-d-don't kill me!" she pleaded, blubbering. "I…I have a son and-and a husb-band…Pl-Please…" Her next words were incoherent, blending with her hysterics.

I warped my voice to sound male and nasally. "Do what you want, but I am taking the girl." Speaking of taking, I needed that assassin's head but I couldn't walk out of here with it in plain view or in a plastic bag. And I'm not the type of female who lugs around a purse.

My eyes landed on several ugly floral recycled material bags; those would work.

It took a little work to saw off the corpse's head with the Kirpan but when it came off, I stuffed it in a few plastic bags before placing it in the floral recycled bag. Stuffing the Bungee Gum and card pack into my jean pockets, I power-walked out of the convenience store and headed toward the safety of my apartment.

* * *

**AN: Hang with me, Hisoka will make an appearance soon.**

**Chapter Title Inspiration: Crazy (James Michael Mix) by Alanis Morissette**

**Disclaimer: don't own 21 Guns by Green Day or their lyrics.**


	5. In Which There be Monsters

Chapter Title: _In Which There Be Monsters_

**Higuchi X All Guns Blazing X Stolen Thunder**

"_I've been through many battles. It's the first time I've seen someone this dangerous. So, I don't want to fight him." ~Hanzo the Ninja_

For most of the week the news ranted and raved about the murder in the small convenience store and about the kidnapping of a teenage girl with auburn hair named Eliza (me). They also went on a tirade about the woman police had discovered in the library bathroom, who had been hanging from the sprinkler head by her esophagus. Not to mention another headless woman found in an alley dumpster (my other stalker?) and several other corpses.

City police were appalled and baffled by the sudden skyrocket in murder rates. They couldn't make heads or tails of the twenty-one bodies littered randomly around town, all dead, most headless. If only they had known that the 'random' murder spree was motivated by greed and that this killing spree was really a campaign to eliminate Hisoka…

In that week I hardly went outside.

When I had to go outside, I wore the same long blonde wig I'd used for my guise at the Rosetta Restaurant. People were on the lookout for a young girl with auburn hair. I couldn't risk the confusion and ruckus it would cause if police caught me and began searching for a mother or family that didn't exist.

In the mean time, while watching the news and reading the newspaper, I began writing the names of the dead assassins and wondered what the total body count would amount to by the time the contract ended. I estimated in the hundreds, hell, maybe a thousand at least. Plenty of people probably had personal vendettas against the whimsical clown. Now that I was stuck in this contract, I might as well kill my two remaining clients and be done with this.

Stupid Tsukasa.

Even if I went into hiding until the contract ended, Tsukasa knew that I didn't have enough connections to generate enough business on my own. I've been in the assassination business approximately half a decade, and I don't exactly advertise my skills. Anonymity is a luxury I'd rather not lose.

Anyway, I sent a brightly colored package to Intelligence Corporation, specially wrapped and mailed. It was nice to get that head out of my hotel fridge. On the man's head was carved the other nickname I was known by and preferred—Predator. If I didn't receive any zeni, I would be pissed.

Despite this chaos, I had to keep an eye on my red-headed target.

Hisoka chose to leave the city via airship to another sprawling metropolis—San Appollo. Hopefully, his would-be murderers would trail after him like crazed fangirls and fanboys. Just to be sure, I waited four days until he had gone before I retreated from the city to a less conspicuous location—a small collection of islands named The Iuam Keys. Higuchi Kimura owned his own personal islet beside the main island where my boat docked. The distance between them would take two hours by boat.

The target had no idea I was coming, therefore there was no reason why I should restrict myself to such a noisy, slow entrance on a rental motorboat. Plus, I bet there was a certain perimeter around the islet that was restricted to public boats and surfers.

It took ten minutes to run across the surface with Nen-enhanced speed.

I skidded to a halt on the empty expansive beach, kicking up white sand in my wake. After fixing my hair into a neat bun, I climbed into the trees and crept toward Kimura's mansion by leaping from branch to branch, pausing only to entwine my body with the tree trunk and its branches when I heard security teams passing by. The entire time I used _Zen_.

This would be just like other missions—a stealthy, quiet approach, a quick kill, and a retreat.

It took at least fifty minutes to carefully pick my way through the tree tops and reach the edge of the forest and wait, crouching in the treetops. Just beyond the tree line stood the target's lavish, stone mansion.

This was too easy…

Then again the target had no idea I was coming for him.

My suspicions were aroused when a shirtless, muscular bald man—Higuchi Kimura—stepped out of his front door, rolling his shoulders and popping his knuckles. He seemed ready for a fight. Did he…? My eyes widened in alarm. Somehow the target knew I was on the island! The feel of his Nen—a hot, stifling pressure—had me clinging to the tree trunk so that I didn't fall off. Without my own Nen to shield me from his, I was defenseless against any Nen attack; even his aura could kill me.

_Higuchi Kimura—ex-Blacklist Hunter, Transformation type, specializes in fire._

Transformation…he could mimic fire with his aura. An arsonist, so to speak. One that could create fire without the aid of a lighter. Lovely.

I shivered as he smirked sinisterly, continuing his stretches. Did he know I was close or could he guess that I would come to him? My teeth began chattering and beads of sweat began dripping off my body. Was this how it felt to be burned alive?

"I know you're here to kill me, little girl," he yelled, cupping his meaty hands around his mouth. "If you play with this dragon, you're only going to get burned!" He did something with Nen—used _Ren_ to boost his aura, unleashed his bloodlust, something—that made me feel nauseous.

He was trying to force me to use my Nen to protect myself! Shit! Worse, he might be using _En_—a combination of _Ten_ and _Ren_, an advanced technique—to extend his aura in a fifty meter radius circle! _En_ is basically a super Nen radar—its user can sense anything in the _En_-covered area.

I retreated several trees back, shuddering with a cold sweat. If the target kept using his _En_ like this he'd drain his aura and wear himself out.

But how long could he maintain _En_?

Better yet, how long could my body hold out before I needed to shield myself with my own Nen?

I couldn't see his aura, not without using _Gyo _to enhance my eyesight which meant I would expose myself. Because _En_ can defeat _In_ and I was using _Zen_, I was screwed.

How in hell did he know I was coming or that I was on the island?

Retreating toward the beach, toward the outer reaches of his _En_ circle, I released my aura from _Zen_ and crouched on a tree branch to wait for the inevitable arrival of Higuchi, recovering from the exposure to his blistering hot Nen. It meant the target had sensed me coming as I ran on the water to reach the island.

Wait, didn't I read in a tourist guide that this island is smaller than fifty meters?

…F my life.

If the situation hadn't been so dire, I would have performed a face-palm and sighed.

Me and my inflated ego.

I'd run straight into a trap—right into the welcoming arms of the enemy. Sure, I'd thought about how to avoid bodyguards and the electronic security system but I hadn't expected the _target_ _to be_ _the damn security system!_

"I see the unfortunate stereotype for Blacklist Hunters still applies," a deep, too-damn-close-for-comfort male voice mused aloud. "Overestimating their own abilities while underestimating their opponent's…" I leapt out of the forest and rolled onto the sand in a defensive crouch, cursing myself for forgetting to use _Gyo_ to see that coming.

My Nen Masters would have punished me severely for my negligence.

I blinked, able to see that I'd narrowly missed becoming a seared Blacklist Hunter. The patch of forest I'd just hopped out of was up in black flames invisible to the naked eye, black flames that would have roasted me. A sudden shadow covered me from above; it rapidly grew larger and larger. I leapt backward and skidded to a stop on all fours, my sneakers meeting the ocean's edge.

Where I'd been standing, sand exploded upward into the air and I shielded my eyes, coughing, as dust filled the air. It cleared as the shirtless Higuchi Kumura leisurely emerged from the crater in the ground. _Where I had been two seconds ago!_

"Quick reflexes," he said approvingly, his baby blue eyes examining me with a little respect. The disdain on his face, however, outshone the little respect that my maneuver had earned. "It's a pity you have to die."

I had to distract him to give myself time to escape…

How the hell do you distract someone who is intent on ending your existence?

That's when I noticed something very peculiar about Higuchi—he had as much hair as a naked mole rat (zilch). And when he stood in the sun like he was now, bald and hairless like a naked mole rat, the sun's rays reflected off him in a similar fashion a mirror would.

I pointed a finger at him. "Shiny!"

If I was standing closer to him—provided he didn't try to kill me—I bet I could see my reflection on his head, his chest, or his stomach. Well, if the latter two weren't all muscular and ripped like a wrestler's.

Higuchi stared at me as if a third head had sprouted on my shoulder. "What…the hell?"

Concentrating one hundred percent of my Nen into my legs, I used the target's befuddlement to beat a hasty retreat, fleeing across the open ocean water back to the main island, praying to whoever was in charge of the universe to convince Higuchi to stay on his little island.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

I had to hand it to him.

That bastard had set me up good.

I had a feeling he expected company on a regular basis, which explained the advanced (or 'advanced' for crooks without the aid of Nen) security system.

It had taken some time and two ice cream cones, but I figured out that Kimura had made his generic personal information easy to access on purpose (ie. being an ex-Blacklist Hunter, becoming a suit for Intelligence Corp, etc). He and his crafty co-workers knew business competitors would send assassins after them, so Kimura made his information somewhat easy to unearth to lure assassins to his island. Then, using _En_, Kimura would sneak up on the unsuspecting 'predators', who would quickly discover they were the prey.

It also explained why I hadn't encountered many bodyguard patrol squads and the true purpose of the electronic security system. When Kimura wasn't using _En_, he must've had some goons watching the monitors to warn him so he could take care of the intruders.

And like an idiot, I nearly fell victim to the same trap.

I was losing my edge or something…

Anyway, Higuchi had a pretty sweet and highly annoying set up…unlike most of my other targets. This would require a lot of brain power, scheming, and guts. I had already lost the element of surprise—a vital tool in every assassin's arsenal. The target knew I would return to finish the job and with his _En_, he could sense me coming.

Unless I commandeered a boat and drove it to his island, using _Zetsu _or_ In_…

But then it was highly likely his security teams would see the boat's spray or the boat, and fighting a lot of security personnel with guns is rather tedious and annoying. Even if—by some screwy miracle or odd twist of fate—they missed my approach, their cameras and other sensor-based electronics would give me away. Dealing with Kimura _and_ bodyguards with guns—_hell_ no.

Having an airplane or helicopter drop me off from above seemed foolish. Not only would security and the target notice the plane and see me jumping off with a parachute, but I wouldn't be able to defend myself in midair. The end result would be something along the lines of Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey, or in this case, Shoot-Holes-in-the-Dumbass.

I could swim underwater using _In_…but I would still have to surface, take off all that gear, and stow it somewhere so the security teams didn't stumble across it. Also, Higuchi didn't seem like the type of guy to forget about underwater attacks. Not to mention even if I used _Zetsu_ or _In_, Higuchi's _En_ would still pick me up like a blip on a radar regardless; after all, he _was_ an ex-Blacklist Hunter.

This meant my methods had to be unconventional, unpredictable.

On the beach of the main island, Iiawah, I sat on the sand, frowning at the vast, mild ocean. To restore my Nen back to full capacity, I was in _In_ mode to prepare for the inevitable showdown. How long had it been since I had been in a situation where I had to actually _fight_ an opponent on par with or above my level?

"Too long ago," I mumbled, lifting my leg and bringing the heel down on the sand with a dull _thud_.

Laughing children ran along the ocean's edge, jumping over the water as it rushed toward their feet. Others rode the waves with boards or their bodies, hooting and hollering excitedly as a wave approached. The waves were rather small compared to other beaches I'd visited. Parents and other older adults reclined in beach chairs, on towels, or slept. Some read, others had conversations with friends, and one or two boom boxes blasted music. A normal, jolly day at the beach for normal people…

I sighed, sliding my leg toward my body so I could rest my chin on my kneecap. My Nen had fully recovered, but I didn't leave the beach just yet. This is the first contract kill that I was hunting down my clients, not the target. This is also the first contract kill I was involved in that I wasn't sure I could successfully complete. I didn't like the sensations I was feeling—my stomach twisting, feeling cold while sitting out in the sun.

The real question I had to ask myself was could I kill Higuchi Kimura or not? If not…that left trying to murder Hisoka.

With a sigh, I let my eyelids slowly shut and deliberated. A few hours later, when the tide had risen and drove people back (crowding my sitting place), I headed toward the grocery store to grab an energy drink for a little boost of confidence.

My client, Higuchi, wouldn't know what hit him.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Higuchi was waiting on the beach when I arrived, skidding to a halt with a wide grin on my face. He had his beefy arms crossed and arched his eyebrow—or the bald area where his eyebrow should have been—at my enthusiasm. "Back so soon?" he asked smugly.

I sweetly batted my eyelashes at him. "I missed you."

He disregarded my comment and, spreading his legs to shoulder's width apart and bending his knees slightly, smirked arrogantly. "It is not unusual for Blacklist Hunters to kill each other. Consider it an honor that you will die by the hands of one of the best."

"Whatever you say, chrome-dome!" I replied with obnoxious cheerfulness, giggling to myself as I gave him a thumbs-up. If poking his ego with a proverbial stick would start this fight faster, I would do it. Time to get this over with.

He scowled, motioning for me to come at him. "Bring it on, bitch!"

Finally!

I smirked. "With pleasure, asshole."

Eyes blazing with _Gyo_, I pushed off the sand and flew forward toward him, the wind screaming in my ears. My fist was cocked and ready by my ear, reinforced with Nen. I aimed it at his upper left chest where his heart would be. Higuchi caught my fist—no surprise—and, instead of stopping me dead in my tracks or allowing my head to butt into his stomach as I planned, he simply sidestepped me and used his free hand to grab the back of my shirt. Using my momentum against me, he threw me forward.

I stumbled when my feet touched the ground, unable to gain full control of my body. I improvised by allowing myself to fall forward and land on my hands, performing a front flip. As I did, my green eyes widened when I saw Higuchi kick empty air where my lower body had been. I think the front flip saved me from getting my ass kicked. _Literally_.

Landing in a crouch on my feet, I spun around and dove sideways as black flames scorched the sand, transforming it to glass. Blood pounded in my ears as I continued tucking and rolling away from the black flames that seemed to follow me. What the hell! This guy was a Transformation type, not a Conjuration! His aura wasn't supposed to be able to separate from his body!

I tried to create some distance to get out of his range, and oddly enough, Higuchi allowed it, not moving from his spot. His lips were still curled upward in a haughty smirk. He held one flaming hand up, looking all-too-ready to hurl a black fireball my way.

"No, my Hatsu is a Transformation type," he informed me as he answered my mental questions aloud, looking way too pleased with himself. "Normal people can't see it and a Nen-user can't unless they use Gyo. It can't separate from me but that doesn't mean I can't extend it."

Just like Hisoka and his stupid gum-like Nen.

I guess this fight would prepare me…if I survived this one, of course. Higuchi had more years of fighting experience up his sleeve, not to mention I was on the defensive.

"I can extend parts of my body too," I shot back with a cocky smile, giving my opponent the one-finger salute.

He ignored the rude gesture, extinguishing his hands and lowering them to his sides. Seems like he wanted to talk turkey. "You are not here to assassinate me, are you? You haven't made a move to attack me yet." Higuchi paused, gauging my reaction; aside from my eyelids lowering halfway so they hooded my eyes, I hope I kept a good poker face. "What is your objective?"

Might as well cut to the chase. "Who are the other two members of the triumvirate?"

He charged at me, his fists blazing with writhing black flames. I ducked the first punch, dodged the follow-up punch, and leapt over his leg when he tried to sweep my feet out from under me.

"That information is classified, even for a little child who is under the impression she is a genius."

"Little! Child!" I repeated, offended. "I'm twenty-one, you asshole!" Dodging another punch and feeling the searing heat by my ear, I kicked his shin with my steel-toe boots before taking a giant leap backwards to continue our conversation. "Who are the other two members of the triumvirate?" The stink of burnt hair reached my nose. _My_ burnt hair by my ears!

"I don't know."

He hurdled toward me, quickly closing the distance between us, and tried to get me with his fists, his legs, and his extending black flames. Damn his _Hatsu_! I want to find out the identities of his colleagues _before_ I try to kill him! Dead men tell no tales. In the mean time, those flames on his hands were to be avoided at _all_ costs. While all these physical attacks occurred, we added Nen techniques like _Kou_ to enhance our strength but I won't get _that_ detailed.

"Liar!" I retorted, whipping out my dagger from its sheath in my boot. Because I hadn't developed my Hatsu yet, I needed to improvise with what I had. "You're one of three bosses of a major, wealthy weapon manufacturing company, and your paranoia with your security system indicates that you are insecure. If you didn't know who you were working with, you would make it a priority to find out." With a knife in my hand, the ex-Blacklist Hunter was less eager to thrust his fists or feet in my direction, especially when I began slicing at him.

The human naked mole rat kept back, maintaining his distance, and instead of attacking me physically, he had his black Nen extend toward me. "I may or may not know who my co-workers are, however, you will never know. After all, I could lie."

"And I'll know right where to find you if I need your help again, Higuchi-_kun_," I replied pleasantly, my voice mimicking a love-sick school girl's. It was kinda freaky hopping sideways and backward to avoid a shapeless, floating, writhing ebony mass that was stretching toward me.

This was a deadly dance…I confess Higuchi Kimura was quite a partner—always keeping me on my toes. However, he couldn't hog the lead forever. If he kept stretching and exerting his Nen at this rate, I would be the one taking the lead in this fight.

While the target used his _Hatsu_ to simultaneously attack me and keep me at bay, I could bide my time with dodging. Trying to get close and personal was not worth the burns. Damn it all, my energy high from the Monster energy drink was running dangerously low.

If I could, I had to capture him and force two names from him before I dealt the finishing blow. Too bad I left that truth serum back at the hotel…

When he acknowledged my competent evasion skills after ten or so minutes, the target realized he couldn't get his Nen to touch me and his _Hatsu_ vanished, but I kept my eyes charged with _Gyo_ anyway, dropping my knife back into my boot. We rushed each other and it became a close-combat battle with punches, kicks, blocks, and dodges. Of course, I was doing more of the dodging and Higuchi more blocking.

But as in all performances, be they battles or dances, someone screws up eventually. And this time it wasn't me!

Higuchi stepped onto an uneven patch of glass that had been created by his unnatural fire earlier, and he lost his footing, his boot sliding on the hard surface. I used _Kou_—transferring Nen from other parts of my body and focusing it into one area—on my right fist and landed a blow on his stomach. His _rock-hard_ stomach.

"Itai!" I whined, whipping my throbbing hand around, retreating at least five feet away.

Higuchi, in the mean time, grunted and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. Sweat ran down the side of his bald head and dripped onto his shiny shoulders. His baby blue eyes watched me warily.

"Amateur's luck," he spat.

"Itai!" I moaned again, disregarding his comment, cradling my right hand to my chest. The energy boost from the Monster had worn off, my adrenaline wouldn't hold out much longer, and I would be winding down into the endurance-slash-survival stage. I needed to think of a plan, damnit! Since he refused to talk, capturing and torturing him seemed pointless. Perhaps his computers would have some information…

The next few minutes lapsed into a break period, Higuchi panting, me hopping up and down, cursing and hugging my injured hand. I even kissed my red knuckles. When the pain died down to a more tolerable level, I flexed my hand and Higuchi stood upright again. Break time was almost up.

I stuck my tongue out at my bald opponent. "Asshole." That really hurt! I hope that jerk's stomach was hurting as much as my hand!

Even if his abs were like steel, a Nen-reinforced punch _should_ have hurt him. I had hit him when he wasn't blocking my _Kou_ with his _Kou_; he had been preoccupied with not losing his footing and becoming vulnerable to a death blow. In fact, the target could have counter-attacked while I had been waving my hand around, wailing in pain…but he hadn't. Was it because I had actually managed to hurt him? He _did_ grunt when my poor fist slammed into his six-pack…

Higuchi Kimura and I stood there on the beach, panting, sweating, and staring at each other warily. My body practically radiated heat and the late afternoon sun wasn't helping my temperature. I wobbled a little and caught myself, trembling from the aftereffects of the Monster and dehydration. My Nen was holding up well; other than _Kou_, I had barely actually used it for attacks, only defense.

My opponent, on the other hand, was beginning to look spent. Perhaps maintaining an _En_ radar to sense my arrival and then using his flaming _Hatsu_ for so long was _finally_ draining his Nen reserve. Either way, this bode well for me if the battle carried on. The possibility that one of my punches would slip past his blocks was increasing.

If I could hit him with more _Kou_-enforced punches, I could actually _kill_ this guy!

"Blacklist Hunters who daydream don't live very long, twerp," a much-too-close-for-comfort male voice growled. I started, eyes widening when I saw Higuchi looming over me. His meaty hand closed around my neck and, with ease, he lifted me to his eye level, tightening his hold.

I gasped, clawing and digging my nails into his hand. It didn't faze him. Instead, his expression changed into amusement as if he was sitting in a theatre, watching one cartoon drop an anvil on another's head. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as he slowly squeezed, and my head grew light and fuzzy as my breaths came in short, hyperventilating gasps. Higuchi's lips curled into a smirk, borderline _smile_.

In a last ditch effort to escape, I kicked him as hard as I could. Because of my short height, my foot struck biological gold—Higuchi Kimura's family jewels.

My ears heard a distant grunt of pain and his hand released my neck. My feet crashed onto the sand, my knees knocking together as my legs collapsed under me. My free hand went to my neck while the other dove into my shoe, grabbing the dagger again. I slashed at Higuchi's Achille's tendon as he jumped backwards. The small knife missed his tendon but left a beautiful, deep, red gash along his calf.

Oddly enough, Kimura hadn't doubled over clutching his privates when I'd kicked him. Getting to my feet, I adjusted my hold on the dagger so the blade faced my opponent. "What kind of freak _are_ you?" I blurted out incredulously, coughing. "I kick you in the balls and you're somehow still standing!"

Higuchi was entertained by my bemusement. "My wife castrated me."

"Gee, wonder why…wait a minute, what dumbass would marry _you_?" As I said this in a croaky voice, I reached in my other boot and tossed a smoke bomb to the ground and ran into the thick, dark plumes of smoke, squinting.

Unfortunately, using a smoke bomb in an open, windy place like on a beach by the ocean doesn't last long. So, instead of charging Higuchi like he expected, I used the smoke as a cover to leap over him…out of the smoke screen…into the forest behind him…turn around, push off a tree trunk with my legs, and—using my Nen to sense his location—come flying at him to stab him in the back.

I missed, landing on my hands and knees, stabbing a glass patch.

A shadowy blur—a boot partially wrapped with charcoal-gray smoke tendrils—came flying at me. I jumped back, but his foot managed to catch my hand and my knife flew out, leaving a stinging sensation. As the ocean breeze continued to blow the smoke screen away, I saw Higuchi, smoke curling around his limbs and upper body as if he was so hot that _he_ was smoking. Ha!

Me, on the other hand…I'm short so he couldn't really see me because I was still hidden in the smoke screen.

I punched his stomach again with a _Kou_-enforced fist. Then, in a burst of speed, I appeared behind his back and, instead of punching, I jabbed my index and middle finger into his lower back to concentrate the _Kou_ on his body to make it all the more painful for him. I continued poking him and Higuchi got _really_ angry _really_ quickly; I dodged his wild attempts to swat and kick me. He couldn't keep up with my Nen-enhanced speed; he wasn't on an I-have-the-advantage adrenaline high like me.

"Stop _poking_ me!" he roared, and I felt a _whoosh_ of air over my head. His fist had just missed my head. "Damn you to hell, you brat! I'll kill you and send you there myself! I'll tear you into little pieces and send you in a matchbox!"

He swung his other fist with a little too much momentum, leaving the left side of his chest exposed to an attack—just what I'd been waiting for. If I hit his heart with enough _Kou_ in my jab, it would overwhelm his heart and it would stop, maybe even explode. I lunged forward to deal the final blow.

Suddenly, something blurry slammed into Higuchi's face, knocking his head back sharply. My eyes widened. A rapid fire of dark, small blurs whizzed over my head and hit Higuchi, who convulsed with each hit. My fingers never touched Kimura's chest, but hovered at least an inch away as my momentum carried me forward as we fell in unison. Higuchi fell back onto the sand with a heavy _thud_, dead.

When I stopped my forward momentum, I whirled around and for a few moments, all my eyes could see was a bright, vivid crimson-red. My vision cleared quickly and I spotted the asshole who had stolen the honor and pleasure of bestowing the death blow on Higuchi—a calm young woman with long, silky black hair. Height approximately six feet. Weight one hundred and fifty-four pounds. She wore a black vest over a bright red shirt, black pants, and black boots. She had silver-colored pins or needles sticking out of her vest. Her empty pupil-less black eyes stared at me.

I scowled. "You asshole!" I snapped at her. "I was just about to kill this arrogant bastard!"

The dark-haired stranger was not moved by my anger. "I already killed him," _he_ said, _his_ voice monotone and flat. Oops…

I stamped my foot in the sand and clenched my fists at my side like a child throwing a tantrum. "Obviously! I didn't want or need your stupid assistance!" Making a noise of frustration and indignity, I kicked the late Higuchi's side, slightly satisfied with the resounding crack of ribs. Just for the hell of it, I kicked his ribs two more times.

His impassive attitude reminded me of my deceased rival, Yukio.

When I looked back at the stranger, I noticed another man had joined him—a ginger-haired man wearing a sleeveless navy-blue vest with gold trim, a sleeveless spandex lilac-colored shirt beneath the vest, and white baggy pants with black circular knee pads. His shoes were black boots with low heels. Two banded, white sweatbands adorned each arm—one on his upper arm, one covering his wrist. On the front of his navy-blue vest were a red heart and a red diamond. Finally, to add a finishing touch to the effect was a fuchsia-colored star on one cheekbone and a green teardrop on the other.

Hisoka. The mad magician himself.

He stood beside the black-haired asshole, smirking at me creepily.

I almost died on the spot.

Why the hell was _he_ here! He was supposed to be in San Appollo, doing…whatever he planned on doing! Hisoka was _not_ supposed to be in the Iuam Keys on Higuchi's private island, staring and smiling at me like he wanted to run his hands over my body in a very _slow_, X-rated manner!

He lifted his hands—I tensed—and clapped slowly three times. "A spectacular performance. Don't you think so, Illumi-kun?" The magician glanced over at his companion.

"No," the asshole responded flatly. "Not at all."

Illumi? A nagging voice in the back of my mind told me I knew or had heard of someone named Illumi, but I couldn't place who…And staring at the feminine-looking male assassin sure didn't trigger my memory. Either way, he wasn't important. The target of my current contract—Hisoka—was _here_ on the same tropical paradise and he seemed intrigued by me. This was very, _very_ bad.

"What is your name, girl?" Hisoka asked, voicing his words in an arrogant, slow drawl. The magician had one hand on his hip, and both he and his companion didn't seem inclined to forget my presence. So much for a quiet getaway.

I used the name Tsukasa had given me for the Rosetta Restaurant. "Kohana."

I tensed, using _Gyo_, when Hisoka reached in his pocket and pulled out a deck of cards, shuffling them idly. Ordinary playing cards—his trademark weapon of choice. I needed to leave and _fast_. If he lost interest in me, this island would be my grave.

Hisoka quirked a thin reddish eyebrow as he eyed me lazily. "What is a cute girl doing on a billionaire's private island?" The way he said those words so slowly, so provocatively had dirty implications.

I scowled, crossing my arms defensively. "Don't be lewd. I'm a girl scout selling cookies."

"Really?" Hisoka's smile grew until it almost resembled a friendly, albeit amused smile. Then he began chuckling, covering his mouth with one hand. Eventually, Hisoka was laughing so hard that he had hunched forward slightly, one hand still covering his mouth, and the other wrapped around his stomach. His entire body was shaking with ill-contained sniggers. The longer the red-haired magician carried on, the rosier my cheeks became.

Even the asshole laughed at me!

His laughter was shorter in length than Hisoka's and much drier, almost forced or…I don't know how to describe it, but to my ears, his laughs had a more mocking than truly entertained quality to them.

"Who would believe that?" Although the asshole's voice still had flatness to it, I picked up on the underlying amusement.

My cheeks reddening even more, I crossed my arms moodily. "Lots of people," I pouted. Especially old grandmothers, adults, and strangers who hadn't just seen me try to kill someone. However, it was such an obvious lie that we all saw through it, but the magician's curiosity was what was keeping me alive right now. I might as well entertain him.

Uncrossing my arms, I put my hands on my hips and scowled at them. "Since you two don't believe I'm a girl scout, I'll explain why the Girl Scouts chose to sell cookies to the owner of the island." I lifted my other hand, holding up one finger. "Billionaires have lots of money and this guy" –I gestured down at my former client's corpse—"was using his money for his security systems, not donating to charities or churches or fundraisers. The Girl Scouts decided that Higuchi Kimura wouldn't mind spending some money on cookies because he has so much money that it wouldn't be missed."

The self-proclaimed magician had calmed down during my little tirade and had lowered his hand from his mouth, but he still had a huge, wry, amused-as-hell smile on his face. Hisoka wasn't buying the bull but he played along anyway, probably because it was entertaining him. "You skipped how you got here. Did you swim?"

"No," I answered quickly, probably too quickly, then tried to make up for it by adding, "I came here in a boat with three other girls. Didn't you see them?"

As I expected, both Illumi and Hisoka answered, "No."

Pouting, I pretended to be sullen and aggravated. "Those jerks—abandoning me on this island. This is your fault, you greedy asshole! Your ugly buffoon-faced security people must have scared them away!" My foot swung toward the corpse to kick it again, but a thin silver flash had me pull back my leg. A silver pin innocently stuck out of the sand between me and the cadaver.

"Damage that man's body again," Illumi spoke up, "and I will break your leg."

"Fine." To avoid the tempting urge to stomp the naked mole rat's face in, I moved two feet away from Kimura's corpse. This Illumi-guy's client must want Kimura's body relatively intact; otherwise I suspected the feminine-looking assassin wouldn't give a rat's ass about the physical condition of the corpse.

Hisoka inserted himself into the conversation again. "Are you the only girl scout with…unique talents?"

"Yeah."

"What a shame. I suppose the Girl Scouts picked you to ask Mr. Kimura to buy cookies because you're the cutest?" The magician stopped shuffling, simply holding his cards in one hand. I tried to gauge whether he would attack or not, but his relaxed posture and unconcerned mannerisms made it impossible to tell. Damn it.

"Yeah," I answered a bit defensively. "Anyway, you two can do what you want with the billionaire. I better get going so I can yell at my so-called friends and still be home in time for dinner. Later!"

With a friendly farewell wave, I took out and opened the pack of Bungee gum that had been in my pocket. After all that fighting and chatting, my mouth was dry. Popping a piece in my mouth, I ambled toward the forest in the general direction of Kimura's mansion and tried not to look like I was walking fast to get the hell out of there. Surprisingly neither Hisoka nor his assassin friend stopped me. That didn't keep me from using _En_ to keep tabs on them until I reached the deceased Higuchi Kimura's mansion, silently praying to _Kami _that neither would follow me.

Neither did.

I let out a huge sigh of relief and as my hand wrapped around the front doorknob, I noticed my knees were quaking. _I_ was quaking.

With a shaky laugh, I let myself in the front door and locked it behind me. Not that a lock would stop Hisoka but it was a small comfort. I spent a few minutes calming down, reminding myself why I couldn't immediately flee the island right now. Hisoka wasn't threatening my immediate wellbeing, so my top priority was finding out the identity of Kimura's two remaining co-workers.

As I tried to find any computer in the unnecessarily large mansion, I picked my way through a litter of human corpses, slippery blood, and cleanly sliced off limbs. Although the carnage was impressive, it was unnerving to know that either Hisoka or Illumi or both of them together had wiped out what looked like _all_ the security personnel.

My eyes landed a poor, dead shmuck who was pinned to a wall with a closed umbrella through his intestinal area. Either his stomach acid had slowly eaten away his lower internal organs or he had bled to death.

To think that could have been me…

I shuddered. "Focus, Miko," I whispered to myself, averting my eyes. "Hack the computers and download the information on disks, _then_ you can run from the island, screaming."

I had to think of the situation this way: one client down, two to go.

And then I was free!

Eventually, I found my deceased client's personal office and, as my disks began downloading all the information, I noticed a glass case with a Hunter card proudly nestled in red velvet. Upon closer investigation, it read _Higuchi Kimura_. Because the case was gorilla-glued to the shelf, it took some well-aimed punches to break the stone shelving under the case but I had it!

A huge grin spread on my face. Hunter licenses were worth millions, if not billions, of zeni!

Kimura must've been really arrogant or stupid (or both) to display something so valuable out in the open. Oh well, he wouldn't be needing his Hunter license anymore. His loss, my gain!

Bonus!

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Later that day, I was singing in the shower, humming the instrumental section of the song and scrubbing my legs with a rough, wet, soapy hand towel when my brain did that click trick again. I suddenly remembered the person I knew whose name was Illumi.

Illumi _Zaoldyeck_ of the legendary, elite assassin family.

_THE fucking Illumi Zaoldyeck!_

My singing abruptly cut off with a strangled gasp, and the hand towel slipped from my hand.

Hisoka _and_ Illumi Zaoldyeck, my two _worst_ nightmares, had been standing side-by-side only several feet away from me a few hours ago! And somehow I survived the encounter. As I thought back on it, this afternoon suddenly seemed so much more sinister now that I knew the identity of Hisoka's companion. Companion…

How was it that Hisoka and Illumi Zaoldyeck were friends? If Hisoka was interested in strong opponents, then why hadn't he killed Illumi yet? Illumi _had_ to be powerful, having grown up in an infamous assassin family. Were Illumi and Hisoka equals? Was that why they hadn't killed each other?

I ducked my face under the showerhead's steaming hot water to clear my head of those frightening thoughts. Who cared how they had become friends? The important aspect of their relationship was how willing they were to back the other up. Would they defend each other if someone threatened the other? Or would, for example, Illumi stand by and watch Hisoka get killed or vice versa?

I guess if I was forced to kill Hisoka, I couldn't do it with Illumi around…It would be like fighting two Hisokas, and one was bad enough.

Turning off the water, I pushed aside the shower curtain and wrung my auburn hair before stepping out of the bathtub. Steam clouded the mirrors, even with the bathroom fan on. Snatching a larger and equally rough version of the hand towel, I dried my face and realized something else.

I had assumed _the_ _Illumi Zaoldyeck_ was a _woman_!

I quickly slapped a hand over my mouth to smother my snicker as I pressed the towel against my wet, nude body with my other hand. Thank _Kami_ I had called Illumi an asshole, instead of yelling "you bitch, I was just about to kill this bastard" this afternoon!

I laughed the hardest that I had in years.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** HunterxHunter is the property of Yoshihiro Togashi, not mine. _All Guns Blazing_ was taken from the title of a Judas Priest song. Btw, San Appollo is the equivalent of San Francisco. The comparison to the naked mole rat was inspired when I randomly remembered the _Naked Mole Rap_ from Kim Possible.

I feel obligated to publically thank my friend, who has been proof-reading the entire story, critiquing it, and helping me keep Hisoka and Illumi in character. I also want to thank my dad and one of his students for reading and editing the rough patches I missed. This story wouldn't be nearly as awesome without their help.


	6. Omake: Hisoka's POV

Chapter Title: _Omake: Hisoka's POV_

**Apple of My Eye X A Debt Repaid X Cute Girl Scout**

_"You do that too sometimes, leaving without finishing off your enemies." ~Illumi Zaoldyeck  
__"I choose my enemies. The only enemies I allow to live are the ones I do not want to die yet." ~Hisoka_

I stepped off the airship and into the busy San Appollo airport, covering my mouth as I yawned. I hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep in the past four or five days. So many people—assassins, Hunters, criminals, vengeful opponents—had suddenly taken an interest in me. They had been popping up everywhere the past two weeks—my hotel and apartment rooms, public and private bathrooms, in restaurants, on the streets, on rooftops, in my air vents…

As exciting as it was to have these people throwing themselves at me, the would-be 'killers' so far had been…disappointing and boring. Fighting boring opponents quickly sapped my patience. Where were the strong fighters, the powerful Nen-users?

I yawned again, sidestepping and passing the slower moving foot traffic. I had no luggage to pick up, and Illumi would be waiting for me just beyond the security point, no doubt eager to leave the crowded airport. Illumi really disliked crowds.

The assassin was leaning with his back against a wall, his arms crossed and his head down. When I passed the security check point and approached him, Illumi Zaoldyeck lifted his head and pushed off the wall. Illumi's dark eyes took in my appearance.

"You look tired," he commented, uncrossing his arms. He wanted to know why.

"I've been evading the paparazzi," I responded casually, running a hand through my hair. "It seems someone wants me dead." Yet again.

Every once in a while, this would happen—someone with a vendetta against me and lots of money would hire an assassin or multiple assassins to hunt me down. While this gave me an opportunity to search for new toys, the candidates hardly ever fulfilled my qualifications. Most of them overestimated their own abilities, and ended up dead; however, I allowed the opponents who showed a little promise to live. After all, if I killed _all_ the dull candidates, it would be tedious and strain my patience more than necessary.

"Why did you call me here?" I asked Illumi as we stepped out of the airport. Humid, polluted air and annoyingly bright sunlight washed over us. Even if they were in a rush, people took care to step around us, I noticed, or rather, they were eager sidestep me. They didn't know Illumi's identity.

"You complained I wasn't giving you any opportunities to repay any debts," the ebony-haired assassin answered, raising one arm to hail a cab. I listened eagerly, curiosity piqued. "Luckily for you, one came up. I could do this commission by myself, but it would be quicker and less annoying with your assistance. I'll fill you in on the details when we reach the hotel."

A yellow cab pulled up to the curb alongside the sidewalk where we stood, ending the discussion. Another jaw-splitting yawn escaped my mouth.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

"The target—Higuchi Kimura—lives on a private island adjacent to Iiawah," Illumi began to explain, his index finger pointing to a pinkie-sized land mass on a map. "Your job is to eliminate the security personnel. The target has employed thirty men and women as bodyguards, some who are Nen-users."

This news brought a smile to my face. "How exciting," I purred, my boredom alleviated. With Gon and Illumi's younger brother training to become ripe fruit, I needed new toys, new distractions. Perhaps one would catch my eye on this island...

Quickly covering my mouth with one hand, I stifled a yawn. Although I needed to catch up on beauty sleep, the R'n'R could wait. Illumi's explanation had just become interesting, fun even. But when he didn't continue, I glanced up.

The edges of the assassin's lips were lowered in a slight frown. "Hisoka, are you sure you can keep the bodyguards preoccupied?" Dear Illumi was concerned about my well-being! The apprehension was as touching as it was insulting.

I stuck out my bottom lip in a pout. "It wounds me to know you have so little faith in my abilities, Illumi-kun."

He didn't bat an eyelash. "Since you seem fine, we can head out tonight." Occasionally, Illumi managed to one-up me.

This was one of those times.

If he insisted, I would go but… "A nap would be nice," I groused quietly, knowing my partner-in-crime could hear my grumbling. So much for concern.

The assassin sighed. "I guess it can't be helped…The bed is over there in the next room." He pointed toward a dark room framed by an olive-green doorway. "I will wake you up."

What a relief. Sometimes Illumi could be a tyrant when it came to paying back my debts, but I owed him for all the times he had assisted me. As I headed toward the unlit bedroom, scratching the side of my head as I yawned, I stopped and half-turned to face Illumi.

"Where are you sleeping tonight?" I asked, knowing full well he wouldn't ever share the same mattress as me. He knew me too well to ever make that mistake.

Illumi jerked his thumb toward a dark green futon. "The couch."

I tilted my head to the side, frowning and tried to sound hurt. "You're not going to sleep with me?"

"No," he responded quickly, without any hesitation. "I think I'll wake you up _early_." Touché, Illumi, but the point was taken.

If I pushed him anymore, he might seriously consider leaving now but I doubted he would. Above all else, Illumi never wanted to leave a commission unfulfilled or fail one. His record was spotless, and if he thought my sleep deprivation would hinder the achievement of his goal, he would either leave without me or wait. But the assassin knew he would never hear the end of it if he abandoned me in this hotel.

A long sigh escaped my lips as the mattress sank slightly under my weight. "Finally," I yawned, kicking off my black boots and socks. Sweet oblivion dragged me down under before I could peel off my navy-blue vest or slide between the sheets.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Something very cold and very wet splashing on my face startled me from my sleep. Automatically, my hand reached in my pocket and whipped out a card as I jerked upright in a sitting position, eyes open, Nen flaring, and ready to take the offensive. I saw Illumi standing a few feet away from the bed holding a transparent glass. It was empty.

"Relax, Hisoka," the annoying assassin said slowly, holding up his free hand to gesture not to attack. "You were out cold and I couldn't wake you." He paused, staring at me as I ran a hand down my face to wipe off the water. "You must have been really tired if you slept on top of the covers." He avoided mentioning that I hadn't taken off my shirt.

Smart boy.

I relaxed, pocketing my card and rubbed one eye. San Appollo was terribly bright in the morning. Had I been anywhere else, I would have sworn it was noon or later. I stretched my arms, rolling my shoulders and rotating my wrists before I pushed myself off the bed. "What time is it?"

"Two in the afternoon."

No way. I raised my eyebrows, surprised at myself. "Really?"

Illumi bobbed his head up and down slightly in a nod. "Yeah. I tried to wake you at ten and noon but you might as well have been dead to the world." Me, dead to the world? Illumi needed to work on his jokes. "There are eggs, leftover sushi, and an apple in the fridge."

An apple…yummy.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the luxury of enjoying the delicious fruit. Illumi wanted to leave as soon as possible and insisted on reminding me to hurry. We took a cab to the San Appollo airport and bought tickets for a small airship to Iiawah. Other than playing a few rounds of Goldfish and Blackjack with Illumi before and during the flight, the trip was very boring. Almost stagnant. Iiawah itself was dazzling—a tropical paradise, an ideal vacation spot for normal people who enjoyed lounging about and soaking in UV rays. The landscape itself, though, was admittedly eye-catching, but I didn't have time to appreciate the natural beauty. Illumi was impatient to kill his quarry.

We stood on a strip of empty white beach, gazing across the water at a smaller island. It would take two hours to reach by boat, but with Illumi's plan, he estimated running on the surface of the water at a high Nen-enhanced speed would take ten minutes tops.

Illumi turned to face me. "Hisoka, you go first and scout ahead. Remember to kill anyone you see, except a muscular, bald man with blue eyes. That is my target."

I smiled, amused. "No need to worry, Illumi. I'm a big boy. I can hold my own and restrain myself if necessary." Illumi's eyelids slid down, and he gave me a half-lidded glare, frowning. I decided humor is lost on the impatient. "I'm going now."

The wind screamed in my ears as I raced across the surface, and water sprayed in my wake, making me an obvious, visible target for anyone watching. Four or five tuxedo-clad figures emerged from the forest as I neared the target's beach, holding peashooters. Pistols and a machine gun. The excitement that had been building in me popped like a balloon when I used _Gyo_ and discovered these were ordinary security personnel. And here I'd been hoping for a good start to this payback.

Perhaps this little assisting job would end up boring like the previous one.

When the five bodyguards began yelling rude death threats and shooting at me, it took a simple leap in the air, a front flip, and a flick of the wrist to kill two guards with one card. Boring. The other three couldn't keep up with my unnatural speed and quickly fell prey to my King of Clubs. Bo-oring. Hopefully the gunfire would attract stronger opponents…Illumi did say some of these guys were Nen-users.

Time to search them out.

Not waiting for my partner to catch up, I raced into the forest, darting around in a zigzag pattern to make myself a difficult target. Most of the bodyguards were caught off guard and died with a shocked look on their faces. Some reacted instinctively, shooting, but I cut them down just as quickly as their dumbfounded counterparts. Word got out that an intruder was on the island, but even when those weaklings knew of my coming, I still cut them down with ease. Four…seven…thirteen…

These quick, easy kills brought me little pleasure, little entertainment.

But I stubbornly kept hoping a new toy would make itself known to me.

I stopped on a low tree branch and frowned west, intrigued when I felt someone's Nen flare. Not Illumi's. This Nen was too warm, almost burning…Should I investigate?

No…not now. I sensed multiple Nen signatures clustered around the mansion. Hmm…there were twelve bodyguards left, and I could pick out eight people in or around the mansion, and at least one to the west. Either three were playing Hide and Seek or they had fled the island. If it was the latter, Illumi wouldn't mind too much if a handful escaped. If it was the former…I would tell them how to hide properly as a farewell gift before they died.

I could investigate the burning Nen later.

Hoping for a little fun, I slowed my pace to a leisurely walk as I approached the mansion, my hands swaying slightly at my sides. To my delight, two people waited for me in front of the stone mansion. As I approached the forest edge, I could see they were poised for battle.

I emerged from the forest with a small, eager smile on my face. Let's see if I could figure out what Nen types these characters were…

A female on the left. Narrowed amber eyes, tan skin, black hair wound up in pigtail buns. A bit on the muscular side. If her skin was lighter, she would have reminded me of Illumi with honey-colored eyes. With the outfit she wore, she looked like she had stepped out of an old Japanese film—a solid black mandarin gown with a golden leaf design. To complete the outfit, she had a sheathed katana strapped across her back and four shiny, pointy objects between her fingers. Throwing stars.

Another female on the right. Wary blue eyes, olive complexion, blonde hair in a low ponytail. Unlike her companion, she was on the softer, more feminine side. She also wore a mandarin dress—solid black with a baby-blue flower pattern. No weapons in her hands or hidden beneath her clothing, but her hands bore an interesting tattoo. Perhaps the tattoos connected to her Hatsu?

I flashed them a genial smile. "Hey." From what I could sense and see with _Gyo_, these opponents were…decent, but not up to par with my idea of strength. But why not play with them a little? Waste not, want not.

The darker-haired female gritted her teeth. "Don't 'hey' me, intruder. If you try to get in here, I'll pin you to that tree." Her threat was very provocative, very…tempting. Already I wanted to listen to her screams.

I placed a hand on my hip, smirking as I rose an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that a promise?" I tilted my head to the side, a throwing star whistling past my left ear.

The black-haired woman glared at me. "Is that a satisfactory answer?" she snapped, malice lacing her voice. With brown eyes, she could have been Gon's older, manly sister. This woman obviously didn't know my reputation or she didn't care.

Fearless, raring to battle, a little reckless—definitely a Reinforcement type. I could feel the beginnings of a hard-on. It either had to be the mental reminder of Gon or this woman's eagerness to throw herself at me…

I didn't know which.

I chuckled, running a hand through my hair. "You're aggressive—I like that in a woman," I replied just to fluster her even more. If I riled her up enough, she would snap and charge at me, snarling or screaming epithets. Her blond-haired bosom buddy was more cautious, slower to let her temper get the better of her. Not a Reinforcement type.

"You—" she growled, stepping forward as she threw the other three ninja stars. She grew even more frustrated when I evaded them with ease. "You lecherous clown," she rudely snarled, her hand reaching over her shoulder for her katana. "I'll slice and dice you into mini perverts and grind each piece beneath my heel!" Yanking her sword out of its sheath, she brandished it at me and stepped forward.

I frowned at her impolite death threat. Perhaps I should point out that I am a magician, not a clown…

"Don't!" the blonde called out, holding out her arm. "He's trying to provoke you!" Wary, clever, patient…but not a Transformation type like myself.

The dark-haired woman threw an exasperated glower at her fighting partner. "I can't let him say such lewd things to me like that without consequence, Ayame-san!" As she said this, she threw a dark glare in my direction to which I responded with a wink and a smirk. "See! It encourages him to treat me however he wants!"

"Naomi-sa—" the blonde began, but the raven-haired woman cut her off with a battle cry as she charged me, her sword raised. Snatching a card from each pocket, I parried her swing with two cards as she tried to bury her katana into my side to slice me in two. A predictable move.

She pushed against the cards, gritting her teeth and glaring daggers at me. I matched her strength, my blue eyes calmly locked with her angry, narrowed amber ones. Too much of her attention was focused on her upper body strength. My riposte to her attack was a quick, hard stomp on her closest foot. I knew that the heel of my boot had broken her foot bones; a broken foot would hamper her footwork—an important aspect of sword fighting.

Naomi let out a howl and slid her sword down under my cards, hoping to even the score. I leapt away from her katana, glancing at the blonde. Why hadn't she joined the fray? Was she waiting for a signal or an opening in my defense?

Seeing her partner in danger, Ayame ran toward the injured woman and with _Gyo_, I could see the swirly tattoos on her hands glowed with a soft blue light. I threw the two cards in my hands at her. The color of her hands turned silver before she batted the playing cards away with her bare hands.

Impressive.

Those cards were hardened with _Shū. _Advanced Nen techniques were not something one could easily swat with bare hands.

The Ayame woman threw herself down to her knees, her hands covering the sword fighter's broken foot. The soft blue glow on her hands intensified. She must be a Specialization type; the blue allowed her to heal, and the silver allowed her to defend herself. An interesting ability, but not as interesting or useful as Machi's. I needed to kill her first. Having her heal Gon's manly older sister during battle would become a nuisance.

The fighter, Naomi, had her sword up, ready to defend herself and the blonde. I didn't want to charge them. The dark-haired woman had yet to use her Hatsu, and I didn't want to focus too much of my attention on her and ignore the healer; I didn't want to find out what damage those tattooed hands could cause to my body. The Ayame woman would be vulnerable when she moved away from Naomi; she was the weaker of the two.

I lazily threw playing cards in their direction to give the appearance that I wasn't simply waiting for the healer to finish her work. The sword fighter blocked my half-hearted attempts to use Ayame as a bull's eye for my cards.

The hot Nen flared in the west again alongside a second, weaker Nen. Were two bodyguards brawling or did Illumi's target have another unexpected visitor? I pushed those thoughts aside as the blonde stood up and nodded, the tattoo color changing to silver.

Naomi smirked at me. "You're an idiot for letting Ayame-san heal my foot," she sneered, slowly advancing on my left as her companion crept toward me on my right. They were trying to attack my sides, divide my attention. What an annoying development. "Now you and I are even again—no wounds—but that's about to change."

She was more right than she knew. Her partner was about to die.

My blue eyes darted from left to right to keep track of their movements. I held my ground, my arms hanging loosely at my sides as they approached. I guess I had to get more serious. No more games.

Half-turning my body and head toward the woman with the katana, I returned her smug expression. The black-haired woman scowled, stopping, when I replied, "I agree. The tables are about to turn." My back was exposed to the silver-handed healer. It was only a matter of time before her eagerness overrode her caution, and she would attack.

I winked at Naomi the swordswoman before I let a little wrath trickle into my Nen, but not too much. As long as I stayed calm, it wouldn't break loose. But forcing down my excitement was hard, especially when the swords woman clenched her jaw and held her ground, trembling visibly. She couldn't interfere now that she was paralyzed with fear. But that delicious fearlessness…

My tongue ran over my bottom lip, licking it. I would enjoy killing her, but I saved the best for last.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her partner rush forward with her hands held out. In a burst of speed, I spun around and rushed behind her, grabbing the back of her neck and slamming her face into the soil. Her nose went _crunch_—a beautiful sound.

"Ayame-san! You bastard!"

I glanced up sharply, keeping the healer's face pressed into the soil. The swords woman hadn't moved from her spot; she still held her sword up, her feet spread shoulder-width apart, and she was trembling, but now tears ran down her cheeks. Her amber eyes reflected frustration and the beginnings of self-loathing. But her fear glued her feet to the ground.

I lifted the healer's face from the ground, ignoring her gasping and gagging, and smiled at the fighter. "Your name is Naomi? Naomi-san, let me show you a magic trick. I will cut off this woman's head and miraculously reattach it." That said, I took a card out of my pocket and quickly, smoothly separated the healer's head from her body.

"No!" Naomi cried out, staggering forward a step. She nearly fell onto her knees. "Ayame's my second cousin, you bastard!" Her lips opened and closed like a suffocating fish when I lifted her second cousin's head to demonstrate that I had indeed decapitated her. She began wailing.

I ignored her lovely screams and continued my demonstration. "See? Her head has been sawed from her body. No tricks, no illusions. Watch as I, the world's greatest magician, heal your second cousin." I placed the healer's head beside her body, subtly pulling a skin-colored handkerchief from my boot. The swords woman couldn't see the handkerchief from this angle.

"She's dead, you insane clown! You can't fix her by jamming her head on her neck!" Her choked, angry voice was getting closer. She was running toward me.

I leapt away from the dead healer's body, narrowly avoiding a wide swing of Naomi's katana. Her anger made her reckless. "I'm a magician," I reminded her, leaning the upper half of my body to the side to avoid a jab. Even if she was going berserk, her poise was admirable—evidence of a seasoned mentor. Her fierce, relentless attacks distracted me and I forgot to tell her to look over at her second cousin, who was standing with her head attached to her body, thanks to my Bungee Gum.

A volley of silver flashes stopped the swords woman in her tracks. My quick eye could pick out three sticking out of her chest, two in her neck, and several impaled in her face. I frowned over my shoulder as she collapsed, dead. Illumi briskly stepped out of the forest and glanced at the blonde-haired healer-turned-dead-puppet, Ayame. Her body dropped to the damp forest floor when I released her from my control.

"How many are still alive?" he asked, walking past me and stopping beside the dead black-haired woman. He began plucking pins out of her body.

I frowned at his back, pouting. "Ten out of thirty. Am I not allowed to have a little fun, Illumi?"

Standing, his pins sticking out of his vest, the assassin shrugged. "She was in my way. There are still ten more, Hisoka." His words were hardly consoling. Two bodyguards out of the deceased eighteen personnel had been decent. The rest had been duds. The odds of finding a new toy on this private island were not encouraging.

Illumi and I ascended the stairs and stopped before the closed front double doors, both sensing the person waiting in the room behind the doors. A strong, steady signature. Stronger than the two dead women had been. A new toy perhaps? I wanted to examine and judge this person but…

I glanced over at Illumi. It was his commission. I would allow him to call _most_ of the shots.

Illumi descended the stairs and eyed the front of the mansion silently. Placing a hand on my hip, I watched the assassin's ebony eyes dart from left to right as he did mental calculating and planning. He had to take the eight Nen-users in the mansion into account, and if I knew Illumi, he was estimating which Nen signature belonged to his target.

My eyes darted west when another Nen flare caught my attention.

The flare remained fairly consistent until I mentally reached the count of nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds before it faded. It had come from the stronger, hotter Nen signature. I hadn't sensed the hot or weaker Nen signatures earlier because we had approached the island from the east and neither Nen-user had been flashing their asses. What had changed?

"There might be another assassin on this island," Illumi said flatly, looking at me, and then glancing west. He was curious too, but not in the same way as me. His curiosity stemmed from his concern for the success of the commission. The assassin sensed a potential threat. "We have to move quickly. No more toying with the target's personnel, Hisoka."

But Illumi had no idea which signature belonged to his target. There were several possibilities, and most potential candidates waited within the mansion. The two in the west would have to wait.

I crossed my arms. Tyrant Illumi was here. "Fine. Do you want to split the guards evenly—four for me, four for you—and how do you want to enter the mansion? Top, bottom, or second floor?"

Illumi tilted his head as he looked at the mansion again, holding his chin between his curled index finger and his thumb. "I'll take the third and second floors. Four personnel for each of us, unless there are more on our floor."

An eager grin broke out on my face. "Got it."

Illumi shot me a warning look before he crouched and leapt up with a burst of speed, disappearing on the rooftop. My ears couldn't detect his landing, not even a soft tap from his boots. The assassin had gotten quieter…I looked away from the roof and back at the front door. Enough of admiring Illumi's prowess. On the other side of the front door there was a prospective toy that was dying to meet me.

With an eager smile, I took a running start toward the stone mansion and burst through the window beside the front doors.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Releasing the umbrella handle, I stepped back from the impaled man and pulled out my ringing cell phone. Tossing it in the air, I caught it with one hand and brought it to my ear. "Hey." Watching my steps, I avoided the dark blood and torn limbs strewn across the room. Dead clones of the dying man who was impaled to the wall—his pitiful, little Hatsu.

Illumi's quiet voice asked, "Finished?"

"Not quite. Two pulled a Houdini, but the other two are dead," I reported, eyeing the moaning impaled man. He wasn't quite dead yet. I'd pinned him through his stomach to the wall. If the man didn't die from blood loss, the stomach acid dissolving his internal organs would kill him.

"Ah. My four are trying to escape." On the other side of the line, in the background, I heard a woman's scream. Her voice grew louder, then abruptly disappeared. Illumi sighed. "Much better. Her voice was annoying."

I silently agreed. "Have you found your target?"

"Perhaps. One fits the description. What about you?"

"No bald men." I watched with mild amusement as the impaled man weakly tried to pull the umbrella from his gut—not the wisest decision. "I'll find the others." By others I was including the two in the west.

Illumi read between the lines. "If it's a bald man with blue eyes, call me, Hisoka," he repeated, stressing it. He honestly didn't trust me to restrain myself. His target must be strong…

"A threesome, Illumi?" I tried not to snicker. "I didn't think you were th-"

The assassin hung up.

"—the type," I finished, pouting at my phone. Although Illumi knew I did it for shits and giggles, he hardly ever took the bait. Didn't Illumi know that all work and no play put him in serious danger of becoming a dull boy? I would inform him later.

Ah well, back to the task at hand. Perhaps my new toy would appreciate my jokes.

Heading out the front doors, I pushed off the steps and fell into a fast-paced run toward to the west. Toward the strong, burning Nen signature and the weaker one. The other bodyguards could escape for all I cared. The blonde-haired man and blue-haired woman were weak Nen-users. But this fiery Nen…it met my standards of Nen-related strength. Barely.

When I leapt into a tree branch on the forest edge, the scene playing out on the beach below took me by surprise. A small, young girl fighting a stocky, bald man. The larger bald man was on the offensive, aggressively, while the cute sprite-like girl dodged and blocked, occasionally trying to land a punch or kick.

I activated _Gyo _in my eyes, watching with intrigue. The bald man definitely possessed superior strength—probably the owner of the fiery Nen. He also had accumulated more battle experience. A ripe fruit…From what I could see by reading the auburn-haired girl's aura, she wasn't a fighter. Competent, but not excelling. Not like Gon. Or Illumi's younger brother, Killua. But the girl had remarkable reflexes like Gon. An unripe fruit…

The bald man took a step back and suddenly slipped, surprising me. Slipping on a beach? Then I saw the deceptive smooth surface his foot had landed on—glass. A byproduct of someone's Nen, no doubt. The twelve-year-old girl lost no time delivering a blow to the bald man's stomach. Her vivid green eyes went wide.

Then she leapt backward, holding her wrist and hopping up and down. "Itai!"

I had to smother my laughter as she continued jumping, cursing passionately and creatively. She was too cute! I wanted to gather her up in my arms and crush her.

The bald man was not as amused. "Amateur's luck," he snarled. The girl ignored him, continuing her epithetic rant, occasionally throwing in a softly moaned, "Itai!" Reaching in my pocket to stroke my deck to calm down, I focused my attention on her opponent. Did he have blue eyes?

I couldn't see through the back of his head.

But Illumi did say to call if I happened across a bald man.

Reaching in my pocket, I retrieved my cell phone and dialed the somber assassin's number, waiting through the rings.

"You found him?"

"Ah. Another assassin found him too." Now that I looked at the twelve, maybe thirteen-year-old closely, she seemed familiar…so did her Nen. I had met her recently, hadn't I? But where?

I hardly heard Illumi say tersely, "On my way" before he hung up. Absently, I tucked my phone into my pocket as I narrowed my eyes, frowning at the auburn-haired girl as she kissed her red knuckles. She flexed her hand and Illumi's target straightened from his hunch.

"Asshole." She stuck out her tongue. The girl had Gon's immaturity…and a bit of a temper. Temper…

Ah! The five-star restaurant that began with an R, the one in Daedellica!

I gave the cute, auburn-haired girl another once-over. Same green eyes, but different hair. Shoulder-length auburn instead of long blonde. Button nose, pouty thin lips, a flat chest covered by a faded pink t-shirt, and army-green shorts that reminded me of Gon…In a green tunic, she would look like she had stepped straight out of a fairy tale.

An unripe fruit…She had potential. If she survived this fight.

I frowned as the muscular bald man quickly crept up on the girl, who had a dazed, unfocused expression but was grinning. The man grabbed her by the throat, holding her up in the air. "Blacklist Hunters who daydream don't live very long, twerp." Her large green eyes widened even further, coming back into focus.

Oh, a Blacklist Hunter at the age of twelve or thirteen? Quite accomplished for such a youngling, especially a girl of decent strength not unlike the two women I'd faced before. Had she passed the Hunter Exam on her own or with friends, like Gon? I calmly watched the girl struggle in the man's grasp as he strangled her. She had potential but if she was so weak that she died here, she wasn't worth investigating. The color drained from her face as she asphyxiated.

Then the little girl hit her opponent hard beneath the belt. The man—possibly Kimura—dropped her instantly and she fell onto her knees. One hand went to her neck, the other for her shoe. A little thrill went through me as she tried to slice the man's Achille's tendon. Even when oxygen deprived, the twelve-year-old cutie could still fight—an encouraging sign.

She immediately got to her feet, a little unsteady. "What kind of freak are you?" Her cute voice came out slightly raspy, and she coughed a little. Her throat would have a ring of bruises within hours. "I kick you in the balls and you're somehow still standing?"

Illumi landed in a crouch on the same branch. His ebony eyes quickly took in the situation, evaluating it. In his right hand he held three pins at the ready. Then the assassin lowered his pins slightly and blinked. "I know her."

I turned my head sharply, curious.

Down below, the skirmish continued without either combatant aware of our presence. The man I now knew was Illumi's target responded, "My wife castrated me."

Illumi noticed my gaze out of the corner of his eye. "She is a newer rival in the business, a rising star so to speak, described as monstrous, stealthy, ruthless. She sounded interesting but she's no better than other assassins—weak, pathetic, brash. When the target eliminates her, I will move in." That explained it. Illumi hardly ever remembered names or faces unless they were connected to his commission or a rival in the business. Perhaps I could tease more information out of the tight-lipped assassin…

"Know her name?" I asked lightly, staring at the irritated-looking twelve-year-old Blacklist Hunter. A deceptively cute fairy with teeth. Who was trained to use them.

Her retort to Kimura was biting, sarcastic. "Gee, wonder why…wait a minute, what dumbass would marry _you_?"

"She goes by Pixie or Predator," Illumi responded as my new toy candidate tossed something onto the sand. Quickly, dark gray plumes of smoke covered the area. A smoke bomb. Illumi tensed, watching closely. "Stupid," he murmured, directing the comment toward the girl. As an afterthought, he added, "She maims or kills those who call her Pixie." Nice to know.

The smoke blew in our direction so we leapt down from the tree, landing softly. From our vantage point, the sandy arena where Kimura and the girl were fighting was clearing up again. We could see Kimura's upper half as he squinted toward the smoke-covered ground. I noticed Illumi pull out another set of pins for his left hand.

I had to act quickly before he killed my tasty-looking candidate. "Let me kill her."

"Hisoka, she is a threat," Illumi frowned, his eyes focused on the scene. His target leapt toward an area, his leg flying out. A dagger—the one the girl carried—flew up out of the smoke, glinting, the blood on it shining. "I would rather kill her now."

I had to think quickly to persuade Tyrant Illumi. "Don't be greedy. You already have a claim on the stronger opponent," I complained, crossing my arms. "This girl can finish the entertainment you interrupted earlier." Illumi should recall the dead sword fighter, the dark-haired woman.

"Stop _poking_ me!"

Illumi looked away from me and back toward his target and the threat. The smoke had cleared completely, thanks to the ocean breeze, and the little assassin appeared to have the upper hand now. She was literally—for lack of a better description—poking her opponent to death. A soft chuckle escaped me. What a humiliating way to die.

"Damn you to hell, you brat! I'll kill you and send you there myself! I'll tear you into little pieces and send you in a matchbox!" Illumi's target yelled, red-faced, his body slowing down. He simply couldn't match her youthful vigor anymore. He would die shortly. I could see it. Illumi could see it.

"Fine."

My eyebrows rose as I stared at the dark-haired assassin as he stepped out of the trees and toward the battling duo. Had I heard correctly? The gloomy, wet-blanket assassin had given me permission to pick off this pixie? My nails dug into the tree trunk as my eyes landed on the young Hunter, the new apple of my eye. Calm down, Hisoka, I reminded myself. She's too unripe. Not as unripe as Gon, but too early to be devoured.

Kimura noticed Illumi. His blue eyes widened in recognition, but the distraction cost him. As soon as he and Illumi made eye contact, my stoic friend hurled his Nen pins. The girl, unaware of the silent exchange, noticed Kimura leave an opening in his guard and went for it, two fingers aimed for his heart. Illumi's silver pins beat her to the death blow.

The first set knocked his head back abruptly.

The next three or four sets flew over the little Hunter's head and nestled themselves into Kimura's face, neck, and shoulders—instant death blows. The target's body jerked with each little impact. He fell backwards and the fairy-girl fell forward, her two fingers outstretched but not touching Kimura's chest. She staggered to stop her forward momentum and whirled around, outraged. Her little outburst of blood-lust tainted Nen confirmed my suspicions. I smiled. She _was_ the girl from the restaurant in Daedellica. The young Blacklist Hunter noticed Illumi, sizing him up in milliseconds.

She looked cuter when she scowled. "You asshole, I was just about to kill this arrogant bastard!" And she had a dirty mouth too.

"I already killed him," Illumi pointed out, implying she had been too slow. It was also the assassin's way of saying no use crying over spilled blood, but the would-be Predator wasn't having any of it.

"Obviously!" She stamped her foot in an adorable childish manner, clenching her small fists. What I wouldn't give to crush her in my arms right now… "I didn't want or need your stupid assistance!" With a growl, she took out her frustration on Illumi's deceased target.

I stepped out from the forest and stood beside my companion, whose hand twitched as fairy-girl kicked the corpse a third time. Wasn't he supposed to deliver the body in decent condition? Oops…

The cranky twelve-year-old returned her attention to Illumi and went stiff when her luminous green eyes landed on me. I smirked back at her, placing a hand on my hip as my eyes trailed over her. She wanted to bolt. She knew me, knew my reputation, and she wanted _out_. Lifting my hands, it amused me when she tensed in a battle-ready position. I slowly clapped three times and glanced over at the dark-haired assassin. "A spectacular performance. Don't you think so, Illumi-kun?"

He wasn't amused by my antics. "No. Not at all."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the Hunter's reaction. Her brows furrowed like she'd heard the name, but her eyes didn't widen, she didn't gasp, or scream. Perhaps she hadn't heard of the Zaoldyeck family, or she didn't know their individual names…But I wanted to know more about this qualifying candidate, this 'rising star', perhaps my new toy…

"What is your name, girl?" I asked slowly so she didn't jump at my voice.

"Kohana," she replied cautiously, her green eyes locked on me. I pulled out my playing cards, shuffling them, watching her muscles tighten further. She was wound up so tight it surprised me she hadn't broken out into hives. So jumpy…

Time to find why she was here. One of my eyebrows rose as I casually inquired, "What is a cute girl doing on a billionaire's private island?"

Of course, Kohana took it the wrong way. "Don't be lewd. I'm a girl scout selling cookies."

A scowling girl scout who wasn't wearing her uniform and could kick an ex-Blacklist Hunter's ass? _Kami_, she wasn't expecting Illumi and I to believe she was actually a girl scout! Not after that interesting display! But the look on her face…

"Really?"

I tried. But the serious expression on her face did me in. Covering my mouth with one hand to stifle my laughter, I half-turned away and saw the fairy-girl's flushed face. Her expression was caught between a scowl and an embarrassed, sulky pout. I laughed even harder, my body physically shaking. Even _Illumi_ laughed! There was no question about it—I was keeping her as my new toy. Anyone who could make _Illumi_ laugh and make me laugh this hard was worth keeping.

Illumi recovered from his little laughing fit first. "Who would believe that?"

Her cheeks turned redder and she stuck out her bottom lip a little further. "Lots of people," she sulked. Then my new toy put her hands on her hips and began to lecture us. "Since you two don't believe I'm a girl scout, I'll explain why the Girl Scouts chose to sell cookies to the owner of the island."

Kami, this ought to be good. Perhaps I could glean some truth from the bull she was about to hurl our way.

My new toy lifted one hand, holding up one finger like a professional lecturer. "Billionaires have lots of money and this guy" –she pointed at the man formerly known as Kimura-san—"was using his money for his security systems, not donating to charities or churches or fundraisers. The Girl Scouts decided that Higuchi Kimura wouldn't mind spending some money on cookies because he has so much money that it wouldn't be missed."

Not bad for BS. She should have worn a uniform. More convincing…and it would have looked cute on her.

But from what I gathered, she was a Blacklist Hunter sent after Kimura, or she was operating on her own. Revenge? I could find out later. If I knew Illumi, he wanted to know her motives—the five W's and the H. Who, what, where…etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

"You skipped how you got here. Did you swim?"

"No." Hmm…a quick response, followed up by a hasty cover-up: "I came here in a boat with three other girls. Didn't you see them?" My new toy wasn't very good at lying under pressure. She looked like she was trying to convince herself too.

"No," Illumi and I replied. So little Kohana had come to the big, bad billionaire's island by herself, no back-up support, no buddies. Probably ran across the water like we had.

The young Hunter pouted again, looking like she needed a nap and a bottle. "Those jerks—abandoning me on this island. This is your fault, you greedy asshole! Your ugly buffoon-faced security people must have scared them away!" She reared back her leg to kick his ribs again, but Illumi had anticipated the violent outburst.

She pulled her leg back before the silver pin could embed itself in her thin calf—another demonstration of deliciously quick reflexes. "Damage that man's body again and I will break your leg," Illumi warned her, another silver pin between his fingers.

"Fine." My toy moved away from the body but not too far away. Was she guarding it?

Sensing this conversation was coming to a close, I had to confirm if she was alone or if she had brought along a companion. Perhaps another toy. "Are you the only girl scout with…unique talents?" She should know I was referring to Nen.

"Yeah." Damn. She'd come alone.

Shifting my cards to one hand, I noticed her tense again. "What a shame. I suppose the Girl Scouts picked you to ask Mr. Kimura to buy cookies because you're the cutest?" With my entire deck in one hand, I could easily grab the top card and throw it. Even though little Kohana was cute and interesting…did I really want a weak toy? She hardly measured up to decent. And I _had_ told Illumi I would kill her.

"Yeah." She sounded defensive about her delicious looks. "Anyway, you two can do what you want with the billionaire. I better get going so I can yell at my so-called friends and still be home in time for dinner. Later!" The pseudo-girl scout waved and smiled at us before pivoting and heading for the forest at a forced walk. She wanted to run.

I glanced at Illumi, who stared back at me expectantly. Torn between keeping and discarding her, I flipped up the top card from my deck. King of Clubs. No Joker or aces. I could patiently search for another new toy. There was no rush. I could always check up on Gon and his little friends.

With the King of Clubs between my fingers, I raised my arm to throw it into the base of her thin neck.

Until I saw her pull a packet of Bungee gum from her pocket and pop a piece in her mouth. It was the original flavor. One of my favorite flavors, even if the taste died out quickly… I didn't know anyone else who chewed Bungee gum. It was pauper's candy.

Lowering my arm, I slid the King to the bottom of the deck before pocketing it. Illumi crossed his arms, looking at me with half-lidded eyes—his version of a glare. I met his gaze, running a hand through my hair. "Why are you upset? You killed your target, and I returned a favor I owe you."

"You said you would kill her."

"I will. Later," I assured the assassin as he headed toward the half-naked corpse. We avoided random glass spots, and I nudged one with my boot. Real glass. Kimura had been a pyro. "The little Predator is no longer a threat, but she would make a cute toy."

Illumi hoisted the cadaver over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows at me. "You must be desperate, Hisoka. She's one of the weaker toys you've chosen."

"Geniuses are fast learners, Illumi," I reminded him, not pleased to be labeled desperate. "Especially child prodigies."

Illumi gave me a funny look. "She's twenty-one years old."

* * *

**A/N**: This may be an hour or two late, but Merry Christmas!


	7. In Which I Flirt with Danger

Chapter Title: _In Which I Flirt with Danger_

**Refined Villain X Keeps Getting Better X Dirty Little Secret**

"_I am called a magician, but I'm not really a sorcerer. I'm actually a person who thinks quite scientifically. The first card wasn't just a restraint; I already predicted that it would turn out this way." ~Hisoka_

"_No following, no resisting…What is reflected in the eyes of a devil?" ~Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles, 90_

I admit I was a little…disappointed.

I had expected Hisoka to be this completely insane clown who would virtually slaughter me where I stood. My sadistic Nen trainers (the Terrible Twins), other Blacklist Hunters, Tsukasa, most people I asked—without hesitation, they described him as a blood-thirsty lunatic, a lust murderer, a monster.

They were right. Multiple news reports, obituaries, witness testimonies, and recordings provided ample evidence to condemn the self-proclaimed magician as a terrifying monster. When asked, Hisoka the magician openly admitted he killed for pleasure with a mysterious, sly smile.

But the Hisoka I had encountered had been...Well, I wasn't entirely sure how to describe him.

Dangerous, powerful…definitely an outrageous flirt, very confident (borderline arrogant), witty, a flamboyant pervert, scary as hell…and handsome. Damn his good looks to the seventh circle of hell. I always hated killing aesthetically pleasing people—such a waste. Then again Hisoka's lilting voice was kinda annoying…and he implied I was Kimura's whore.

But, aside from being creepy, the magician had seemed…pretty normal.

_Does that make me abnormal?_ I wondered as I unbuckled my seat belt. The airship captain had just switched off the seat buckle sign. _Am I slightly insane to think that Hisoka is actually not as crazy as everyone claims? _It wouldn't surprise me to know my sanity was teetering on a fence. Most assassins were slightly crazed, or went nuts before the end of their career.

However, the worst part of it was…I didn't think I was losing my marbles, or that Hisoka had lost his.

When I had looked into those beady baby blues, I hadn't seen the glint of insanity or a far-away, unfocused mist. What chilled my blood was that Hisoka had been looking straight back into my eyes, a cool, almost logical, steeliness in the way he met my gaze. He was intelligent, _genius-level_ intelligent. I should know. I'm a genius. I can pick out my kin.

Hisoka allowed himself to be maligned as mental when, in reality, he had his marbles lined in rows.

Exactly the way he wanted them.

"A puppeteer through and through," I murmured, suppressing a shudder as I rose from my seat. With the knowledge that my two worst nightmares were too damn close for comfort, I had taken the first airship available to leave the Iuam Keys. It was a red-eye flight but better than sleeping with one eye open, clutching a dagger under my pillow.

I wandered down the dimly-lit hallways, quietly exploring and curiously peering through the little cabin windows, taking mental stock of my fellow passengers. Mostly businessmen, it appeared. Probably single. Some sleepy vacationers flying to San Appollo to catch another flight to their homes. I shook my head.

_Enough thinking about families and single men_, I scolded myself. _The little manual in the first-class cabin mentioned something about a dance floor on this airship that's almost always open. Go find it and use it to calm your nerves. Obviously the terrifying ordeal with the magician and the Zaoldyeck shook you up. _Even though I had found and sold Kimura's Hunter license for four hundred million, the zeni had done little to soothe my jumpiness. I swear I could sense Hisoka on this airship at times…but that was probably my developing paranoia jumping at shadows.

The Dance Room was my idea of heaven—smooth obsidian tiles, flashing strobe lights, colorful klieg lights, loud upbeat music, a luminescent bar to the side, and a few neon-colored dangling lights near the exit and restrooms.

I grinned as I slowly walked in, absorbing the deep bass assaulting my ears and sending vibrations shooting through my body. A cheerful blonde wearing the airship uniform handed me a blue glow stick armlet, wishing me a good time. I thanked her as I moved forward, taking a quick look at the exits if I needed to escape. Other than the door I entered through, there was a door behind the bar counter and the airship windows.

Exits noted, I eyed the dancing crowd, standing on the writhing fringes. Not a bad crowd considering it was one in the morning.

Prepubescent punks, hormonal teenagers, single men and women in their twenties and early thirties…I would blend in with the prepubescent crowd. Somewhat. A light blue V-neck sweater, gray corduroy pants, and boots were on the overkill conservative side from what I saw. Apparently tube tops, t-back shirts, and jean miniskirts were in. And tons of elastic bracelets or several glow sticks.

Feeling like a nun and rolling up my sleeves, I decided to sit out the first few dances and observe, learn the footwork and styles. It differed from country to country, airship to airship, train to train, boat to boat. I looked around, smiling, and caught a few boys—thirteen to fifteen—staring at me. All but one looked away when I met their eyes; that fourteen-year-old boy winked, and I blew him a kiss. He grinned, amused, and headed toward me, a mischievous gleam in his navy blue eyes.

I automatically sized him up.

Five foot, eight and a half inches. One hundred and thirteen pounds. Chestnut brown hair, navy blue eyes, charming, and amusingly arrogant. Too bad I was his senior by seven years, but since I have a twelve-year-old's body, it's not like men in their twenties will dance with me. They'd look like pedophiles. It's probably a compliment that teenage boys are willing to dance with me.

Then again, teenage boys couldn't hold a candle to the older men when it came to good looks. Like Hisoka.

I blinked, surprised at myself, and shoved Hisoka and assassination in the back of my mind. Time to dance for fun, not dance to kill.

The attractive fourteen-year-old stopped beside me, leaned a shoulder against the wall and smiled down at me. I smiled back up at him, feeling nothing but an eagerness to dance. No heart pounding, no sweaty palms, no blushing. Even when he leaned forward to loudly ask, "Would you care to dance?" Any seductive whispers would have been drowned out by the relentless techno music blaring in the background.

I grinned and hid my disappointment at the lack of a chemical-hormonal reaction. "Sweep me off my feet."

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Quietly singing _Please Don't Stop the Music_ under my breath, I headed back toward my cabin at four twenty-two in the morning, ready to collapse on the pull-out bed in the cabin. My muscles were still sore from the clash between Kimura and I, and three hours of dancing wasn't helping with their recovery. Not to mention, the bandage disguised as a choker around my neck was coming loose; it hid the bruises from Kimura's choke grip. I was so ready to crash onto the cushy, soft pull-out cabin bed...

I yawned as I pulled open the cabin door and stopped in the doorway, my humming dying off.

Someone was in my reserved-for-Hunters-only first-class cabin.

A gorgeous red-headed devil reclining in a seat beside the window, his feet propped up on the seats on the opposite side of the wall. A few inches taller than six feet, and a little over two hundred pounds. His unruly hair was, surprisingly, hanging down and framing his aristocratic face. The devil glanced over when I opened the door and a sly smile graced his lips. "Hey."

Sweet Kami above!

I scowled, my heart leaping into my throat. "Why are you in my cabin?" My fight-or-flight response was on red alert, and most of my previous weariness fell away but only most of it. Why was _he_ here? Damnation, now he knew I was on the same airship...but how could I have known?

"Your cabin?" Hisoka's eyebrows rose. "This cabin is reserved by the Hunter Association, and therefore, is open to all Hunters." He reached in his pocket, and I stepped back into the hallway, preparing to dive to the side. Hisoka saw this and paused. "Relax."

My eyes narrowed a little further. My sadistic Masters usually said that…right before they suddenly attacked or did something horrible to me. "Uh huh," I said suspiciously, but allowed him to pull out a card-like object from his pocket. His Hunter's license.

"See?" With a twist of his wrist, the magician made his license vanish into thin air. "I am a Hunter too." Since when?

"Isn't there another cabin?" I asked, stepping back into the doorway threshold. "The Hunter Association tends to rent out more than one room to avoid conflict." Kami, how did he find me? And since when did the magician become a certified Hunter? I needed to do some background research pronto, provided I didn't get killed first.

"No, the captain said there is only one cabin on this airship due to its small size," Hisoka explained. He didn't seem bothered at all by this arrangement. Then again, I wouldn't put it past him to be lying.

"F my life," I muttered, hovering on the door threshold.

Hisoka smirked and winked at me. "If you say please."

Did he just…offer to fuck my life?

For a moment, I gawked at him speechlessly, my mouth open. Then, seeing the magician giggle at my expense, I shut my mouth and turned a beet red. Kami above! Had Hisoka just implied he wanted to screw not only my life, but me too? My face felt so hot that I swore the skin would start melting off. Hisoka's soft chuckles amplified my mortification.

"Hell no," was the wittiest response I could push out in a pitiful self-defense. My mind was still reeling.

The magician must have followed me or traced my electronic ticket. Either way, how Hisoka had magically found me wasn't important now. To obey flight or fight? Personally, I was leaning toward the former.

But it wasn't like I could jump out of the nearest window. Even with Nen cushioning my landing, the airship was hundreds, or thousands of feet above ground level, and the end result would be multiple broken bones and internal bleeding, or death. Contrary to popular belief, I happen to like living.

But, if I ran, where could I hide on such a small airship? What if Hisoka followed me? If he did, how long could I avoid the magician before my worn out body couldn't keep up?

Damn, I was at a disadvantage...Hisoka had caught me completely off guard and had managed to trap me. Somewhat.

Admittedly, there wasn't really much point in hiding because that would only help me avoid Hisoka until the airship landed; then he would probably see me sneaking off the airship. If I hopped out a window when we landed, a young girl with auburn hair, wearing a blue sweater and gray pants running across the open, cement landing strips was pretty easy to spot. And I doubt I could beat the crowd in the rush to get out of the airship.

No, it would be better to keep an eye on Hisoka. Plus, as much as he scared the bejeebers about of me, I…I wanted to see if he was really crazy or not. Or if I was simply imagining his sanity. From what rumors I'd heard, one minute Hisoka could be smiling and talking to you, and the next minute you would have a playing card embedded in your face. And you would be dead.

I wanted to test my little theory that Hisoka was as sane as anybody else, maybe even more so.

Other than his smirk becoming a little lopsided, his smug expression didn't change. He was way too pleased with himself. "Won't you join me?" Hisoka asked, sitting up and lowering his legs from the seat facing his. "It will be a long time before the airship lands."

He had a point. As much as I hated to admit it…

But that didn't mean I would glibly plop down in the seat across from him and try to get to know him. Sitting across from Hisoka, my target—we would practically be in the same breathing space. There must be a reason _why_ people claimed the magician was crazy. His aura wasn't exactly radiating gumdrops and roses; it felt malicious and restless like he wanted to strangle me. Also, Hisoka's speed was also legendary. I could escape an attack more quickly if I was further away and standing on the threshold of an unguarded exit.

"Maybe later," I replied coolly, resisting the urge to cross my arms—a sign of defensive body language. I need my arms down at my sides, ready to slam the cabin door or grab a makeshift weapon. Too bad my weapons were in the belly of the airship.

"Suit yourself." His smile dropped, his lips forming a thin line. Was Hisoka…disappointed or displeased by my decision? I couldn't tell. He only looked bored now, no longer amused, as he kicked his feet back up on the airship seats.

We didn't speak. Neither of us really moved. The atmosphere between us wasn't tense or awkward, just uncomfortable. Some time when I had been gone, Hisoka had opened the curtains covering the window. The inky sky gradually lightened to navy…to pinks, oranges, and yellows as the sun rose…and then the colors faded into a uniform sky-blue.

The entire time I waited on the balls of my feet, ready to bolt if Hisoka reached into either pocket. If he suddenly went insane on me, I wanted to get out of the way. Oddly enough, the red-head had changed his outfit to something more normal—a half-zipped black jacket with a popped collar, a plain white t-shirt, sable slacks, and equally black loafers. On the top of his head rested a pair of dark sunglasses. He looked like a model, posing for a punk picture shoot.

It was probably six or seven o'clock, if the sun was just up. I leaned against the doorframe, my legs begging for a reprieve. Forty-five minutes to go before landing…

I started badly when the airship captain suddenly spoke on the intercom. "Passengers, I apologize for the inconvenience but we'll have to land on another airstrip. A tropical storm is developing off the coast of San Appollo. We will arrive at Hien Airport in approximately two and a half hours."

A tropical storm in the fall? I frowned. The ocean around the Iuam Keys _was_ warm around this time of year, and it was the middle of cyclone season so a storm was possible, but unlikely. The weather forecast had mentioned cloudy skies in San Appollo, not a tropical disturbance or depression.

My eyes narrowed as I stared at the unusually calm magician, who seemed totally unsurprised by the change in course. Earlier he _did_ say, and I quote, _"It will be a long time before the airship lands"_. Did he have something to do with this?

Hisoka glanced at me as if sensing my suspicion. "Manipulating the weather is beyond my abilities," he oh-so-kindly informed me.

Well, _duh_. No human being, with or without Nen, could manipulate the weather but…

"But controlling people is within your abilities," I countered, pushing off the doorway so I didn't lean on it. My right arm was beginning to lose sensation. "It's your forte."

I didn't like the way his eyelids lowered minutely or the way his mysterious smile took on a more sinister curl. "What are you implying?" Hisoka asked innocently, looking anything but innocent. Especially mostly dressed in black like someone from a yakuza.

My knees bent slightly as my leg muscles tensed. If he attacked, I could avoid a card attack or a flying foot or fist. From there, I would have to improvise. "The pilot, the co-pilot, the captain—they are not above…persuasion." Like bribery, blackmail, or threats. "And I have a feeling you can be very persuasive if necessary."

"I can be persuasive," he admitted, his expression calm and unreadable, "but I didn't persuade any of the airship crewmen to do anything."

My auburn eyebrows rose skeptically. "Really?"

"Really."

At this point, I don't think Hisoka was aware that he was my target. Why should he? The magician saw me targeting Higuchi Kimura. Unless he was aware of the contract and the commissioners…No, not possible. Hisoka probably figured out that someone had set a bounty on his head—how could he not, with multiple assassination attempts?—and it explained why his sudden appearance on Kimura's private island with his friend, Illumi Zaoldyeck. Hisoka immediately came to the Keys to throw off pursuers…and ran into me in the process. _Me_, the assassin trying to _avoid_ him.

Irony is such a bitch.

Anyway, at any rate, Hisoka benefitted if the airship landed at a different airport. He wouldn't be flying back into what he knew would be a nest of assassins. Any would-be murderers who tracked him to the Keys somehow wouldn't figure out that Hisoka was in Hien until he pulled a Houdini and left them with a cold, dead end to the goose chase. The magician could vanish for weeks, months, without anyone knowing his location. Except _me_, the assassin who didn't need to know his location.

F my life…At least Hisoka didn't seem interested in categorizing me as a 'fruit' or 'toy'. That jerk seemed satisfied with screwing with my head.

Arming myself with a friendly smile, I asked with an all too sweet tone, "Why am I having a difficult time believing you?"

"Because I am a liar and you don't trust me." Hisoka mirrored my congenial smile, and, sitting up, he leaned forward and patted the seat across from himself. The one his legs had been propped on. The magician still wanted me to join him. Seeing that I wasn't budging, he tried a hopeful look. The kind a guy gets when he thinks he's going to get what he wants. "At least let me enjoy the pleasure of your company."

My aching legs agreed with the magician. Standing for another two and a half hours was not appealing, not after three hours of dancing. But I wasn't going to enter the cabin and sit down quietly, not without a witty comment or something to let Hisoka know I was sitting because _I_ wanted to. Not because he asked, not because he wanted me in the room.

"Pleasurable…that's a new one," I mused, sinking into the wonderfully poofy and comfortable airship seat. Kami, my legs felt _much_ better. Leaning back, I nestled further into the seat, partly to get more comfortable and partly to hide from Hisoka's stare.

Now that Hisoka was across from me, staring at me with an analytical gaze, I wanted to stand and go back to the cabin door threshold. Maybe even leave…No, I needed to keep an eye on him so he couldn't sneak up on me. But I was afraid if I stood, Hisoka might interpret that as me deciding to leave and bad things might happen. Like me dying or becoming severely crippled for life. Maybe I was so small that I could sink through the seat cracks and escape…

His staring was unnerving…

"You're damaged."

I blinked, surprised by his confidence in this statement. "Damaged?" I parroted, confused. I still didn't like the way he was looking at me.

Hisoka tilted his head to the side slightly, as if musing something. "You have potential…but your growth has been stunted. Someone damaged—no, broke you and you're gathering the pieces. Am I right?"

My surprise ran so deep that I couldn't stop my eyes from widening or stop the quiet, sharp inhale. It felt like Hisoka's statement had sent a lightning bolt through me to my core. H-How did he know?

"Seems I was right," the magician mused, leaning back in his seat as he soaked in my reaction. "Who did it? Your parents? Friends? A boyfriend? Your mentor? The Exam?"

Turning my head to the side to avert my attention, I watched Hisoka with my right eye. This time I was careful to school my expression to stay stony, impassive. Was I really so easy to read? Or did the magician have an uncanny ability to read people? My stomach churned agitatedly. Kami, my heart ached. Hisoka, that bastard, had reopened an old wound.

"Not you, ergo it's none of your business," I replied lightly. More than ever I wished I could vanish from this cabin—just disappear, teleport elsewhere. I'd been cautious about physical attacks, so cautious I forgot to consider psychological or emotional attacks.

Surely Hisoka could sense the underlying warning in my tone, but he brushed it aside. After all, what real harm could I do to him? "But I'm interested."

I mildly stuck my tongue out at him. "Learn to suffer from the suspense." After having my largest inner scar discovered, I wasn't eager to discuss it. If that red-haired bastard continued pushing, I couldn't whip him in a physical fight but he would get a taste of my temper and acerbic tongue.

Hisoka seemed to sense this from my aura. "There's no need to be nasty, Princess." The magician had enough sense to drop the painful subject, or at least, put it aside until he decided to broach it again.

"Hmph."

I crossed my arms and didn't take my eyes off him. Hisoka's unknown rationale for discovering my biggest emotional sore spot was confounding, to say the least. What had I done or said that suggested I was damaged? My mind only offered blanks. That scared me.

No wonder Hisoka was so frightening. His incredible ability to read people only served his equally monstrous manipulation. Handsome, powerful, arrogant, smart, _and_ a manipulative bastard. How much worse could he be? And that was discounting the supposed insanity.

"No need to be an ass, Prince Charming," I mumbled dryly. Hopefully, Hisoka heard me. A glimpse from the corner of my eye told me the magician had. He was staring again, and now I liked his scrutiny even less. Bastard…

"You can ask me something if you want."

"Why are you such an ass?" My tone was poisonously sweet, deceptively cute.

Hisoka's eyebrows rose a little. "I have an ass, if that's what you mean." The pervert even pointed to it. "I'll let you feel it if you say please."

My eye twitched. I was too grumpy to be flustered by any explicit images my imagination could conjure. This guy…he was unassailable! No matter what I asked, that red-haired bastard would ward it off by playing dumb or purposely misinterpreting my question. If he wasn't so damn strong, I wouldn't have any qualms about ensuring the devious bastard couldn't breed. I guess I had to ask something less offensive…dammit.

"Why did you dye your hair red?"

He blinked, apparently surprised by the change of topic. "You don't like it?" Hisoka answered, running his fingers through his hanging hair. Most of it neatly fell back into place as if it had never been moved. The magician had totally evaded giving an answer to my question by answering with a question. Fine, I don't really give a damn why he changed his hair color but he wasn't staring at me creepily anymore.

"No, ginger looks good on you," I replied honestly albeit grudgingly, scratching and absently tugging the loose bandage wrapped around my neck. "Will your next change of outfit include green hair and a purple suit?"

The question elicited a genuine chuckle from Hisoka, and an amused smile to match. I guessed the chuckle was genuine because it sounded nothing like his mocking chortles or perverted giggles. Really, what self-respecting man _giggles_?

"I prefer my own style," the red-head grinned, still amused. "The Joker is not a magician either." In other words, that was a definite no for the green hair and purple suit.

Silence lapsed between us. Not an uncomfortable one…but to me, it felt as though we were waiting for the other to continue the small talk. Surprisingly, for an infamous, powerful murderer, the magician wasn't bad company. Even if he did scare the hell out of me and was an asshole. I wasn't even that angry at him anymore, just very unnerved.

Hisoka rested his elbow on the armrest, then curled his fingers before resting his jaw on them as he stared at me. "You haven't stopped using _Gyo_ since you saw me three hours ago." So it was only around seven o'clock? It felt…much later than seven. Had time had been dragging its feet through the mud to torment me?

My lips curled into a tiny smirk. "You noticed."

His jaw still resting on his fist, Hisoka tilted his head slightly. "You really don't trust me at all, do you, Princess?" He lifted both legs, causing me to tense again, but he only propped them up on the seat to my left, crossing his long legs at the ankles.

Slowly, I uncoiled my muscles. With his legs up, the magician wasn't in a position to attack me. Was he making himself somewhat vulnerable so I wouldn't twitch every time he moved? It didn't matter what position his body was in, I wasn't going to take my eyes off him if I could help it. Not for a heartbeat.

"Not at all, Prince Charming," I said evenly. "Not at all."

Hisoka was definitely saner than most people. And smarter.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

"I guess this is goodbye," I mused aloud. Hisoka and I stood just outside the Hein Airport under the cement overhang, staring at the chaotic waxing and waning of traffic. Light rain drizzled on the cars, buses, and airport shuttle buses. My sweaty palms held my weapons briefcase, and my pink kiddie backpack straps dug into my shoulders. Sitting approximately three feet away from Hisoka was mostly tolerable, but standing practically side-by-side? It was giving me the chills, maybe an ulcer on the side.

Where the hell was a cab when you needed one?

The magician looked down at me nonchalantly, his hands in his pant pockets. "I guess. Later, Princess Kohana." He casually headed toward a shuttle bus that had just pulled up, leaving me to stare at his retreating back. Even if I had a thousand years to study him, I don't think I would ever figure out Hisoka. He was as mysterious and aloof as entities come. Quite the puzzle.

"Princess?" I repeated quietly to myself. Why was he calling me a princess?

Because he thought girls liked being referred to or treated like royalty? Despite my efforts to ignore his nickname for me, the way he called me 'princess' sent a little thrill through me. The magician wasn't sarcastic or patronizing when he said 'princess'; he sounded serious, sincere even…but then again, Hisoka was supposed to be a damn good liar and manipulator. If he didn't sound sincere, his act wouldn't be nearly as convincing.

The shuttle bus had emptied and new arrivals were now boarding the bus. Hisoka glanced over his shoulder, smiling when he noticed me staring. Then he half-turned toward me, lifted his arm and… blew me a kiss!

Unimpressed, I grabbed the air to 'catch' his kiss and tossed it over my shoulder, rolling my eyes. The only time Hisoka would ever kiss me would be in his dreams and my nightmares. Well…I wouldn't mind so much if in the dream, he kissed me and didn't strangle me afterward.

Not that I had any affinity for the red-haired devil.

I just have a slight weakness for handsome men.

With my twelve-year-old body, it's not like I stood a chance dating anyone my real age. Not unless that person was a pedophile or didn't mind being labeled a cradle robber. Even if I looked twenty-ish, as a Blacklist Hunter, I couldn't bear to establish a romantic relationship with a guy and risk putting him in constant peril. On the other hand, if said guy could handle himself in battle and against assassination attempts and knew Nen, then I might be persuaded to give the relationship a go…

I shook my head clear of any romantic notions. _You're a Blacklist Hunter, Miko, not an ordinary girl who can have a boyfriend and a family. You faked your own death to protect your family from being targeted. Any romantic relationships you get tangled into can only end in disaster, tragedy, or death for you or your partner. Now stop thinking with your ovaries and look for a damn cab! You're not in the clear yet. Your target is still in the vicinity, probably watching you, analyzing your reaction._

Analyzing…

I needed to do some analyzing too. If I ever ran into that agitating magician ever again, I wanted to be more prepared. But first, I needed a place to stay and preferably not alone with Hisoka in the vicinity. I needed to stay with someone I could place a decent amount of trust in…Someone who had connections, who could defend his or herself with Nen…someone like Tomoyo.

The beautician and clothes designer who was connected to Tsukasa's loose organization of Blacklist Hunters lived in the next metropolis over—Souhi. Tomoyo, beautician extraordinaire, would be more than happy to fuss over me. She always pleaded with me to be a model for some of her photo shoots because I was "just that irresistibly adorable". Plus, Tomoyo had plenty of connections. She could help me scrounge up information about Hisoka, information I might be hard-pressed to find on my own.

Taking my cell phone from my pocket, I dialed her number and held the phone up to my ear. "Maybe this is your big chance to play doll with me, T," I muttered as I listened to the rings. One…tw—

"Hello?"

"Hello yourself, T," I grinned when I heard her clueless voice. My number always came up on caller ID as blocked or restricted, thanks to the cell phone company.

Tomoyo squealed like a fan girl.

Perhaps this was a faux pas…

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Since I was involved in the assassination business, I had always assumed another assassin or Blacklist Hunter would kill me. Or my target would somehow do me in. Guns, swords, daggers, poison, traps, bodyguards, Nen…Hisoka was the most recent addition to this list of likely ways I would perish. Is it wrong to assume you'll die a violent death if your work environment is violent?

I never thought I would die in the arms of my beautician, suffocated by her boobs.

"T-Tom…oyo-cha…an," I wheezed, thankful my Nen was protecting me. If I were a normal person, my ribs would have broken by now and pierced my lungs. My beautician forgot her strength when she got fan girl-ishly excited. Like when she saw me.

"Whoopsies!" She released me, and I swayed on my feet, sucking in air. "I would apologize but you're probably used to my hugs by now. I can't help myself! You're too damn cute for your own good, Miko-chan!"

Now that I thought about it, it was probably thanks to Tomoyo's rib-crushing hugs that I was able to fight Higuchi when I was oxygen-deprived. Go figure.

"So what do you need? Tsukasa didn't call so I assume he didn't send you." The blonde-haired beautician had a habit of thinking out loud. She wasn't dumb per say, but she claimed she could 'think better' if she spoke her thoughts aloud. "I doubt this is a social call either. You're pretty antisocial…So what's up?"

Conscious of her inquisitive violet eyes on me, I 'fessed up. "I…I need some information on a target and" –I prepared for another hug—"I need a place to stay."

Kami, she looked like this hobo I saw shooting up drugs—the same rapid-gradual, excited expression. She must be in throes of ecstasy right now. "This is a dream come true!" the giddy beautician squealed, hopping up and down. Her chest jiggled correspondingly. "Kami, I have so many ideas that I don't know which I should try first! Kyaaaa!"

I gulped, waiting for her to hug the air out of me again.

Tomoyo's violet eyes glinted as her glee transformed into something more sadistic. "Even when you beg me to stop, even when you can't stay conscious any longer, you _will_ obey my every whim! Your beautiful photographs _will_ take over the fashion world! You will be famous!" She cackled evilly. Her cackling wasn't nearly as frightening as Hisoka's soft, eerie chuckles.

"Tomoyo-chan, I'm a _Blacklist Hunter_, an _assassin_!" I grabbed her shoulders, trying to shake her from her megalomania. "I'm _not_ supposed to be famous or have millions of pictures of me available! And even if I do take the fashion world by storm, I want to be famous for my killing _skills_, not my killer looks!"

Tomoyo smirked. "Do you want a place to stay or not?"

"…Damnit."

"That's what I thought."

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Tomoyo pouted petulantly, crossing her arms. "At least _try_ to look happy, Miko-chan!" Tsukasa, Hisoka, even Illumi would probably laugh their asses off if they could see me now. I should have convinced Tomoyo never to release the pictures to magazine companies to pitch her own products. If…No, _when_ these images hit the general public, Tsukasa and Hisoka _would_ laugh their asses off.

I grimaced. "I'm wearing pink! And lace! And frills! And a tiara! Who would be happy in this death trap?" It severely hampered my mobility, not to mention the outfit wasn't even practical!

This dress design probably came straight out of a manga or anime that Tomoyo had read. It was form-fitting at the top and flared out after the hips. The top of the dress resembled a pink tank top with lacey frills around my bosom. The skirt of the dress appeared to have layers, like the first layer stopped mid-thigh length, then a second layer continued down to my knees, and so on. Each skirt layer was trimmed with frills. To top it off, Tomoyo added a silver tiara and pink elbow-high gloves. The details were ridiculously meticulous.

Did I forget to mention that sakura petals were floating down from above me?

Kami, why have you forsaken me?

"Do you really want help or are you screwing with me?" Tomoyo scowled. The beautician was no Hisoka but she was intimidating in her own respect. "I'm taking twenty-five pictures first to ensure that you're serious, Miko-chan. You're not pulling another fast one on me like last time!"

She was still mad about that, huh? Not my fault she's so gullible.

"Didn't you ever want to dress up when you were a little girl?" Tomoyo asked, irritable.

"Not really…"

Honestly, my mom hadn't encouraged girly behavior. In all the memories I have of her, we had mother-daughter time or did girly things together because she was always 'busy', and my older brother always sneered at me when I acted like a girl. So I didn't do girly things to earn my brother's approval.

Tomoyo frowned. "That's so…sad. I've never met a girl who didn't want to be a princess when she was younger. Was it because of your mother or step-mother?"

_Princess._

Immediately, Hisoka's drawling, annoying voice came to mind. _"No need to be nasty, Princess." _It was creepy how clearly I could hear his voice in my head. I blamed the perverted magician. If he wasn't so damn scary, I wouldn't have been on high alert mode and therefore, my memories wouldn't have been so emotionally charged.

_FLASH!_

I stared wide-eyed in the direction the flash had come from, blinded by white and black blobs obscuring my vision. My lips parted slightly, and another bright camera flash followed up the first. How the hell did celebrities put up with this?

Tomoyo's exuberant voice reached my straining ears. "Only twenty-three more to go!"

F my life.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

The blonde-haired beautician-slash-clothes designer gasped loudly when I told her the name of my target and explained the contract. Her violet eyes were the size of dinner plates. She actually took a few steps backwards and dropped the brush in her hands. It would have been funny if I could have laughed and said, "Just kidding! Ha ha, I really got you!" Tomoyo seriously looked spooked.

"Didn't you swear you would never—"

I sighed. "Yeah."

"So how…?" Tomoyo frowned, perplexed. She leaned over and picked up the brush from the floor before continuing to run it through my wig.

"A blonde pansy tricked me," I grumbled, not at all pleased about the reminder. I seriously needed to set aside some time to consider how to search and destroy Blondie. But my first priority after researching Hisoka was reviewing the disks I'd downloaded from the deceased Higuchi Kimura's computers. The sooner I killed the second triumvirate member, the sooner I'd be freed of this damn contract. "Ow."

"Whoopsies. Sorry." Tomoyo ran the brush through my hair more carefully, gently untangling a knot. "Wow…that really blows. And you said Tsukasa-sama trapped you in it?"

"Yeah…"

"So you're going to assassinate Hisoka-san?"

"No."

Tomoyo frowned again, thrown off my answer. "No? Isn't that the point of the contr—ooh! You're going to assassinate the commissioner. Want me to ask around for information about him or her? Do you have anything I can go off of?" Setting down the brush, she reached for a green bow and pinned it in my brushed, long black wig.

"Not yet," I admitted, "but I will inform you when I do. I still want to learn as much as I can about Hisoka. My intuition tells me I haven't seen the last of him." My reflection self looked nothing like me—silky black hair, wide blue eyes, and kick ass clothes. She looked…surreal. Like a modern fairy.

Would I ever escape the words 'cute' or 'pixie'?

Tomoyo patted the top of my head, pitying my plight. "May I assist the mortician when he or she dresses you? If you die, that is."

My eye twitched. "I don't think I'd have a say in the matter, but thanks for your vote of confidence." Irritably batting her head away from my head, I moodily stalked toward the door of Tomoyo's penthouse.

Behind me, I heard Tomoyo say in an exasperated voice, "I was _joking_, Miko-chan! Joking! As in, _not_ being serious!" Despite her plea for me to not take her comment so seriously, I wondered if the beautician really was pulling my leg. There's a reason the saying 'many a true word is spoken in jest' exists.

Jest…Jester. Hisoka.

Would the flame-haired Joker be my executioner?

Shutting the penthouse door with a light kick, I darted down the hallway and ducked into the elevator to avoid Tomoyo. She would try to apologize for the poor joke. Didn't _anyone_ believe I might survive a fight against Hisoka?

Well…I don't blame them for not believing I could.

Hell, _I_ don't even believe _I_ could.

The elevator started its slow descent to the lobby, and I leaned against its cool metal walls, my arms crossed, and I dispassionately ignored Tomoyo's calls. My bottom lip trembled, but no other sign betrayed by internal turmoil. My situation as hopeless.

How _could_ I defeat a superhuman magician?

How do you vanquish someone larger than life?

F my life...

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Disclaimer: don't own Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles (owned by CLAMP if you wanted to know), or HunterxHunter quotes (directly from the anime), or the title Refined Villain (taken from an anime called Fairy and Earl or Hakushaku to Yousei), and I can thank Hannibal Lector for inspiring the chapter opening. I also don't own any songs mentioned in this chapter. Did anyone pick up on the Batman reference?

**Yakuza**: a Japanese gangster.

**Hein:** Scarlet Flame

**Souhi:** Blue Ice

_Happy New Year! Say hello to 2011!_


	8. In Which Hisoka is Analyzed

**CAUTION: Hunter x Hunter spoilers! You've been warned!**

* * *

Chapter Title: _In Which Hisoka is Analyzed_

**Know Your Enemy X Fired? X Blood Type**

"_The stronger the person, the more likely he'll hide his true powers." ~Killua Zaoldyeck_

_"Like magic without tricks, who can fathom his inner heart?" -Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles 59_

I leaned back in the library computer chair, gawking at the computer screen.

I had known Hisoka was a dangerous individual but not _this_ dangerous. Damn…how was I supposed to compete with _this_? I was just a plain licensed Blacklist Hunter. Hisoka, on the other hand, had connections with two of the most powerful known groups in the world—a friend in the Zaoldyeck family, and is…or was a member of the infamous Phantom Troupe. In other words, he was _way_ out of my league.

This was why I had sworn never to be an idiot and try to murder him. Because the magician would definitely turn the tables on me, and _I_ would be the one buried six feet under.

F my life…What had I gotten into?

My back slumped against the computer chair as I gaped at the glowing computer screen, not seeing the symbols or words on the monitor. My initial reaction to discovering this information had been overwhelming fear but now…now I was numb. I…didn't know what to feel, what to think, other than realize that Hisoka outclasses me in every way. I may be a genius, but if _I'm_ a genius, _he's_ the epitome of genius. Hisoka is the Kami-damn poster child for the word!

He was, quite literally, larger than life!

And I had been sitting across from this insanely accomplished and powerful magician, merely a yard away him. It was a fucking _miracle_ that I had reached Hein Airport alive, in one piece, unharmed, and walked out of there. I could only thank Kami that the red-haired devil hadn't dubbed me a 'toy' or 'fruit' or had proposed that we do battle.

I really needed to purchase the tapes of his fights at the Celestial Tower and scrutinize them like my life depended on it. Oh wait, silly me! I almost forgot my life _does_ depend on it!

With an agonized groan, I finished penning the information I'd found about Hisoka from the Hunter website. Not much information I hadn't known already, but it helped. The information was mostly statistical—height, weight, gender, hair color, eye color, and status as a Hunter. My estimates on Hisoka's height and weight hadn't been too far off. Unsurprisingly, Hisoka had chosen to become a Blacklist Hunter.

Tomoyo had called and suggested checking out the Celestial Tower or Sky Arena website, stating that she had a customer whose cousin had a friend who works in the Arena as an elevator operator. This distant friend would send tapes—special tapes recorded by a Manipulation Nen-user—that would show 'every detail' of the magician's fights, Nen included. And she would do it for a quarter of a million zeni.

A flabbergasted Tomoyo had asked me to repeat that yes, I would send her the money. Half now, half when I received the tapes.

And figuring out Hisoka was a member of the notorious Phantom Troupe, the Spiders?

I stumbled across a newspaper clipping about a York Shin auction a few years ago that went horribly wrong (I had to pay a few thousand zeni to read it though). During the beginning of an annual underground auction conducted by various Mafia groups, the Phantom Troupe managed to slip in and massacre five hundred people before the opening speech, and escaped the building in a hot air balloon. Oddly enough, there were no bodies, no chairs, no blood in the room where the massacre occurred; it was completely clean. The article even provided a scanned image of the leaflet the Mafia handed out with pictures of seven Ryodan members.

Anyway, the Phantom Brigade's hot air balloon was shot down in the Goro desert. Then, a tall, hairy brutish knockoff of Tarzan—a Reinforcement type—wiped out at least thirty Mafia men and four Injiyuu single-handedly. Nostrad's bodyguards claim that this hairy man sported a Spider tattoo with the number eleven on the abdomen. Then the eleventh Spider was captured, and a few hours later, escaped with the assistance of other Troupe members. Of course, the other Troupe members took a few hours to rescue their comrade because the remaining six Injiyuu showed up…and were annihilated.

Due to Nostrad's forewarning, the Phantom Troupe didn't manage to steal any auction pieces because they had been relocated. The next day, the underground auction was allegedly supposed to resume in the Cemetery Building at nine o'clock, but beforehand, all thirteen Spiders attacked. The result was city-wide pandemonium, an estimated number of over two thousand people died, even more were injured, and a multiple districts were heavily damaged.

According to Mafia reports, two Zaoldyecks managed to knock off the Spider leader in the basement of the Cemetery Building. Apparently, the other professional assassins the 10 Godfathers hired or Mafia men 'killed' the other members of the Phantom Brigade.

Including a red-haired man named Hisoka, who had a spider tattoo with the number four on its sable abdomen.

Coincidence? I think not.

"Man…I knew I was in deep shit, but not _this_ deep," I mumbled, groaning the words as I erased the electronic footprints of what I'd been researching before closing the Interweb and logging off the library computer. The fun thing about looking up stuff on a library computer is that, although someone can trace a path back to the computer and the location, they would have no idea what user was looking up the information. Especially if the user was wearing a disguise and wrote an alias on the sheet of paper librarians use to keep track of who utilizes their computers.

My freaked out musings were interrupted by the familiar singing of Nirvana. _"Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be. As a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy."_

I flushed, frantically digging in my pocket and ignoring the annoyed stares of the other computer users. The librarian had narrowed his eyes menacingly. It had totally slipped my mind that I should switch the phone volume to vibrate or silent. When Tomoyo had called, I'd been standing outside the library, debating whether I should eat lunch at a restaurant or at Tomoyo's.

"_Take your time. Hurry up. The choice is yours. Don't be lat—"_

"Um, Tsukasa, can you wait five minutes?" I whispered, a little chagrined and very embarrassed. The librarian raised his thin hands, pointed two fingers at his eyes, and then pointed his index finger at me—the universal sign for _I'm-watching-you_. "I need to find a less conspicuous location."

"Do you know how _close_ I am to kicking your little ass out of the Blacklist Hunter coalition for your insubordination?" my boss hissed. "I am your _boss_, your _senior_, your _superior_! I tell you to jump, and you ask how high. You don't sit on the ground and turn your nose up at me, Pixie!"

Apparently, he couldn't wait to start a pissing match with me.

Ignoring the librarian's scowl, I hurried toward the women's restroom. "Why the hell are you accusing me of insubordination? I haven't taken _any_ outside assignments," I shot back in a low snarl. "Your spies are lying to you."

"I found this out _before_ my lackeys informed me." Tsukasa's angry voice had gone flat, cold. "The zeni your bank account increased by a few million and not long after, I find out that Higuchi Kimura—a commissioner in the contract—is dead. This connection is pretty clear, Miko. You killed the ex-Blacklist Hunter, despite a direct order, and sold his Hunter License. Either give me a damn good reason why I shouldn't ban you from the coalition or tell me the name of the person who convinced you to kill him."

It was all I could do to stop myself from punching a pale green bathroom tile or kicking a bathroom stall open.

In a very calm, very detached voice, I said, "I'll give you a damn good reason—I wasn't the one who killed Higuchi Kimura. Illumi Zaoldyeck did. I just stole the Hunter License from Kimura's office. As for who convinced me to go after Kimura, I don't think you can touch the voices in my head." Maybe sarcasm wasn't the best course of action for dealing with an angry boss, so I coolly added, "Ask around, Tsukasa, and you'll find the truth."

The silence on the other side of the line was deafening, suffocating like one of Tomoyo's embraces. I even checked to see if the asshole had hung up on me. Surprisingly, he hadn't. He just wasn't speaking. A middle-aged woman—one hundred and fifty-four pounds, five foot and three inches—entered the bathroom and stopped in her tracks when she saw me, leaning against the bathroom wall, scowling at my phone. My Nen was probably very potent right now.

Reigning in my emotions, I gave the woman a pathetic polite smile. "Don't mind me," I said politely. "I won't be long."

She gave me an odd, slightly freaked out look as she slowly entered the bathroom stall closest to the entrance. My eyes rolled when I heard the latch click, locking the stall. There was a rustling of cloth, a zipper unzipping, and then silence again. Obviously, the woman was waiting for me to leave, too shy to obey nature calling with another female in the bathroom.

Well, she would have to deal with it.

That woman didn't have to worry about undercover assassins who might happen to overhear her conversation and murder her for big bucks. She didn't have a red-headed psychotic murderer interested in her. And she probably wasn't in danger of being fired by her irate boss for asinine reasons. She was only embarrassed that a 'young girl' would hear her pee.

"Um, hello? You still alive?" I asked, trying not to be too terribly acerbic. "Or did you die from the shock?"

"Unfortunately for you, I'm still very much alive," Tsukasa replied dryly. "You're making a pretty unbelievable claim—saying a Zaoldyeck killed Kimura. I give you props for thinking of a powerful killer who has no available photographs and cannot be easily contacted for confirmation, but how can I be sure that you're not trying to save your ass?"

"I can describe him," I offered casually, my eyes on the bolted stall. Geez, this woman could really hold the lemonade. "Illumi is rather unique—long black hair, pupil-less black eyes, pale skin, muscular, wears a red shirt, black pants, boots, and a vest with pins sticking out of it. Ooh, and he's _very_ pretty. In fact, the dude looks like a lady."

Tsukasa continued his angry spiel as if I hadn't interrupted. "I'll look into the matter again." His tone more or less said _your-ridiculous-opinion-had-been-noted_. And then the asshole hung up without even saying good-bye like he used to. Before this whole Hisoka mess.

I shoved my phone in my pocket with a scowl, and then snapped at the woman in the stall, "Oh, for Kami's sake, face your fear and pee already! Just do what you have to do and be done with it! You're in the _women's_ restroom with another _female_. Big deal!"

My reply was silence.

Scowling, I noisily exited the bathroom, consciously making my shoes scuffle so she could hear me leave. Otherwise, out of habit, I would have left the restroom with as much noise as a ghost's haunting whisper. My empty stomach quietly gurgled to voice its complaints. After Tomoyo's call, I'd returned to researching and forgot to eat lunch.

Time to return to the penthouse.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

After a heavenly lunch consisting of delicious bruschetta, dango, and Tsukimi Udon, Tomoyo and I stood before a wall-sized mirror, each armed with a tube of lipstick. The mirror would serve as a whiteboard, and the lipstick—colors the beautician disliked—would substitute markers. As the clothes designer began writing, I took out my black _Death Note _notebook and did the same. It took ten or more minutes to copy my notes onto the mirror, while Tomoyo finished within five minutes.

The blonde stared at my whore-pink scribbling. "You're really meticulous, Miko-chan. More thorough than I gave you credit for…You'd made an excellent stalker. All you're missing from the basic information is his blood type and birthday."

"Why would I want to know either of those things?" I asked, shutting the Death Note with a quiet _snap_. Most of my target's notes took half a page at least or two pages at most. Hisoka's consumed four pages and was growing.

Tomoyo shrugged. "I don't know. You could try to kill him on his birthday."

My lower eyelid twitched a little. "Tomoyo-chan, assassins don't do symbolic things like that. It tends to be predictable, and predictable behavior is bad in the killing business."

Then, out of the blue, the beautician quietly asked, "What if Hisoka-san plans on fighting you? Like, he intends to kill you? What will you do?"

"I don't know…" I admitted, pocketing the small black notebook. "If he fights me at my current strength, I'm dead. I'd like to become stronger so I could properly defend myself, maybe even try to kill him."

Before bed and when I woke up, I went through the routine my vicious but wise Masters put me through every day—meditating with _Ten_, physical exercise like push-ups and running four miles, and maintaining _Ren _for an hour. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of training Hisoka went through to become so insanely strong. Did he have pushy Nen trainers? Did they force him to do crazy things like scale tall cliffs bare-handed, like mine had? Or push, pull, and lift cars?

The blonde-haired beautician frowned, her thoughtful violet eyes on me. "Let's review the information we have, starting with your basic information."

I nodded, and began reading aloud:

_Reward: approximately __1.6 billion zeni_

_Target name: Hisoka*  
__Status: Blacklist Hunter  
__Hunter Examinee Number: 44  
__Weapons: ordinary playing cards hardened with Shū (carries more than one deck?)  
__Gender: Male (aka Asshole)  
__Age: Twenty-seven  
__Height: Six feet and two inches  
__Weight: Two hundred pounds  
__Hair color: cotton-candy blue, now flaming red  
__Eye color: baby blue  
__Mental status: supposedly insane_

_*Nen-User; type: unknown—determine by viewing Celestial Tower tapes; said to have two super annoying Hatsus  
__Fighting style: no specific style, except frustrating_

_Personality traits: devious, annoying, intelligent, manipulative bastard, difficult to read, devious, really powerful, dangerous, an incorrigible flirt, confident (arrogant?), witty/has a sense of humor, scary as hell, devious, a pervert, aloof, a talented fighter, graceful, very controlled, devious_

_Self-proclaimed magician who kills for pleasure (lust murderer) and is interested in strong opponents; was or is a member or the Spiders, and is believed to be dead by the Mafia (or was, until recently); is acquainted with Illumi Zaoldyeck (friends?); sensitive to blood-lust_

"Yes, I get the point," Tomoyo giggled. "Hisoka-san is devious. Did you really have to write it four times?"

I frowned. "Yeah. I underestimated how devious he was and…it cost me. It was a really big mistake to underestimate his deviousness so I'm emphasizing it." Other than the Twins, who had been with me during the incident, Hisoka was the first person to discover my deepest emotional wound. If necessary, I wanted to avoid telling anyone else. Even my best acquaintance, almost-friend, Tomoyo. No offense to her, but the less people who knew, the better.

Actually, _that_ date was coming up pretty soon…

December first...at one twenty-four A.M.

A small hand with long fingers gently touched my shoulder, and I flinched reflexively. "Hey," Tomoyo frowned, tilting her head sideways so she peered up at my face. "Are you alright? You're not still mad about that mortician joke I made earlier, are you? I'm really sorry. It was insensitive of me to joke about your death." A look at her pleading eyes confirmed that she was sincere.

Truthfully, the joke had bothered me because it reminded me of my pseudo-death, the one that had broken me. Or almost broke me.

Pushing those depressing thoughts aside, I forced a little smile for the concerned beautician. "No, you already apologized for the bad joke. I forgive you. Again."

"But that's not what's bothering you, is it?"

Damn her uncanny perception. Or was my face simple to read? I really needed to work on faking emotions and lying to myself to pull off a convincing performance so I wouldn't get asked personal questions like this. In the mean time, I resorted to lying.

"No…it's just…" I trailed off meaningfully, before continuing, "Well, I feel a bit depressed because it seems like I'm trapped…but it's nothing you should waste concern over. I'm hoping to find wiggle room by the end of this Hisoka analysis." It wasn't a lie. I did feel trapped and I did hope to find a crack in Hisoka's armor, but that magician wasn't the issue that was raining on my parade, so to speak.

But the blonde bought it. Her face brightened visibly and, with a big smile, she clapped her hand on my upper back, nearly dislocating my shoulder. Tomoyo honestly needed to be conscious of her strength when she felt exuberant. I didn't want to see her strength when she was angered. "We'll think of some kind of defense against Hisoka-san's fighting style," she beamed. "I'll read my findings out loud too."

_Hisoka-san is a popular fighter and a floor master on the 200__th__ level in the Sky Arena, a tall metallic building where people gather to bet on fights. Hisoka-san has never lost a fight, clearly making him an unusual fighter. He's nicknamed the God of Death._

"Shinigami is an equally fitting nickname," I muttered under my breath and was elbowed by the annoyed beautician.

_In the Genei Ryodan, Hisoka-san was number four of the thirteen thieves (all skilled Nen-users). According to my source, this indicates that the magician was one of the strongest members of the group. How Hisoka-san joined the Genei Ryodan is unknown. The blood tests the Mafia ran on his corpse, a Nen clone of his body, showed he is B blood type._

So Tomoyo was also aware the red-haired devil was affiliated with the Spiders.

"How do you know that the corpse was a clone made of Nen?" I queried, genuinely curious. That indicated a Materialization user among the ranks of the Phantom Brigade. "And why did you write his blood type? If either of us was going to become a stalker, you'd make a better one."

"A Nen clone created by a Materialization user would explain why the corpses of the Genei Ryodan suddenly vanished without explanation. The bodies were not stolen as the Mafia stubbornly believes, despite the fact that multiple sightings of members of the Genei Ryodan have been reported," Tomoyo explained patiently, walking me through her thinking process, "and a person's blood type indicates their personality."

I sweatdropped. "But that's just a superstition."

Putting her hands on her hips, Tomoyo leaned forward in my face and her blonde eyebrows slowly rose. "Oh really? I've never met Hisoka-san but if I were to describe him by his blood type, I would say he is imaginative, egocentric, powerful, passionate, unforgiving, feral, reckless, a doer, and unpredictable. I'm right, aren't I?" The beautician leaned back, crossing her arms with a smirk as she soaked in her triumph at making me go slack-jawed.

"You saw my description of his personality as I wrote it!" I complained, pointing at my list of traits. "Most of the adjectives you said match the ones on my side—powerful, unpredictable or devious, feral or dangerous…"

"But I finished my list earlier than you did because I didn't get the nitty gritty details like you did," Tomoyo pointed out. "I finished as you were beginning to list Hisoka-san's personality traits. You would have noticed me adding more writing." That…was true.

Unable to refute her argument, I only stared at the words _B blood type_ with a newfound grudging respect. "That's…creepy."

Tomoyo looked satisfied, borderline smug. "What's your blood type?" she asked.

"I don't know…"

"I'm guessing you're a B," the beautician mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully with her index finger as she looked me up and down critically. "It would explain a lot…"

I scowled. "What are you implying, Tomoyo-chan?" That the magician and I were the same type? That we shared more similarities than I cared to admit?

"Nothing…just a thought, is all," she said dismissively, waving her hand as if she was shooing the idea and my anger. "Anyway, this Hisoka-san is quite accomplished for his age, a truly unique individual. I have never heard of anyone else who has been inducted into the Spiders, befriended a Zaoldyeck, and is a celebrated fighter in the Celestial Tower."

"He certainly has the arrogance to go with it," I muttered under by breath.

The blonde didn't appear to notice my quiet side comment. After a moment of pensive gazing at the lipstick riddled mirror and tapping her chin with her finger, Tomoyo suddenly turned toward me and her deep violet eyes locked with my wide green ones. "You purposely left out your opinion of his looks on your notes!" she accused. "Hisoka-san must be handsome!"

I blinked, feeling the beginnings of a blush. "Wh-what?"

The beautician put her hands on her hips, her violet eyes narrowing to slits. "We've only gone over information like this with two of your other targets, and you harshly criticized their lack of physical appeal," Tomoyo rambled on, lifting a hand to poke my forehead. Hard. "You called them pathetic, ape-like wallflowers, ignorant sons of bitches…yet for Hisoka-san, you write: incorrigible flirt, a pervert, has a sense of humor, and graceful. Most of the personality traits are not written in an insulting manner." She jammed her index finger into my forehead again.

Reading over the list again, I realized with surprise and horror that Tomoyo was right. "How is writing 'manipulative bastard' and 'asshole' in parentheses not insulting?" I argued weakly, focusing on the few worst features. "Or 'scary as hell'?"

Tomoyo rolled her violet eyes. "You think every man is an asshole until he proves otherwise, which no man you've met has accomplished. And the other two descriptions are written with an air of grudging respect, even mild admiration."

Kami, why couldn't I develop a Hatsu that would let me teleport or disappear? I didn't like where the beautician was taking this conversation, and my cheeks were already tinged with a shade of pink that Tomoyo would immediately misinterpret. How to divert her onto a rabbit trail?

I stuck my tongue out at her, ignoring my burning cheeks. This was too embarrassing… "Hisoka is more deadly than any target I've been assigned to eradicate. With his strength, he could knock me into puberty. To match that kind of strength it might take me five years of training, but he wouldn't sit around waiting for me to get more powerful," I argued. "With all that he's accomplished, I feel like a lowly, pathetic bounty hunter. You yourself admitted Hisoka was unique and talented. Is he not worthy of admiration?"

Wait, why the hell was I defending a guy who scared me shitless and had discovered my deepest, darkest secret?

"He is but…" Tomoyo began slowly, but I cut her off.

"You know what," I seethed, smearing the whore-pink personality notes until they were indistinct blurs. "Forget everything I just said, Tomoyo-chan. That guy is an unhinged, manipulative asshole who needs to go to hell as soon as possible." I stomped toward the door, my footsteps noiseless.

"Where are you going, Miko-chan?" she inquired, baffled.

Crossing my arms, I stopped by the door near her bedroom and scowled. "Didn't you say you wanted at least thirty pictures of me in Yuletide stuff for winter magazines? It's not getting any closer to fall." With that, I huffed and stalked out of there, Tomoyo following with a bemused frown.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

"We meet again, Princess," a soft, lilting voice purred.

I jolted upright in my bed, feeling as though I'd plunged into icy, northern water. The frigid waters of panic and fear filled my heart, my lungs, and then froze. Desperately, I peered around, squinting in the darkness. Quiet, mocking chuckles filled the air but my ears couldn't pinpoint the location of the man who was laughing at me.

"Surprised to see me?" I started with a sharp gasp to find the red-haired magician had appeared beside my bed, the one in Tomoyo's penthouse. Hisoka wore the same attire as he had on Kimura's islet, and he stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, staring at me with those bright penetrating eyes. When I didn't reply, he arched an eyebrow. "You haven't forgotten me already, have you, Princess?"

"N-No. Even with _years_ of intensive therapy, I don't think I could ever forget you," I said, my voice sounding husky as I spoke around the icy lump in my throat.

One side of his smile quirked upward, unbalancing his customary archaic grin. He chuckled again. "My, my, what ill-tempered behavior. Would my Lady prefer to continue this conversation after a nap?" Beneath the mock sincerity, his cruelty aroused my anger.

"I'm twenty-one, you asshole, not a child," I scowled, pushing the covers off my legs to shift to a defensive, crouching position. "And I am _not_ your lady."

Before I could lift a leg, Hisoka effortlessly closed the distance between us was and pinned me down to the mattress with one hand on my chest just above my nonexistent breasts. One hand right above the area of my ribs where my heart was. When I tried to lift my upper body even a little, the magician pushed down harder and made it difficult to breathe. I glowered up at him, conscious that he was seated on my thighs, using his weight to pin down my legs.

I was helpless. And he had one hand to spare.

"You are not my lady. Yet." A smirk played on the devil's lips. "You're still a weak girl scout…but I will patiently wait until the time is ripe for me to take my due. Hopefully, you won't disappoint me, Miko. I will be waiting." He put a little more weight onto my chest to emphasize his point, but my aching ribs only worsened how tight my chest felt. I felt smothered and cold; I trembled.

H-He knew my name!

The driving desire to escape went through the roof as my worst nightmare slowly, leisurely leaned closer to my face, regarding me with half-lidded eyes. I gazed back with wide, frightened eyes, trapped and unable to defend myself against this terrifying red-haired monster. Without warning, Hisoka's lips roughly collided with mine in a demanding kiss before he abruptly pulled away.

His blue eyes were dark but reflected a suppressed eagerness. "Think of this as foreshadowing," he whispered, no, _promised_.

With a smirk, Hisoka lifted his free hand—the one not pushing down on my ribs—and then reached behind his back. His large, warm palm rested on my knee. His cruel lips curved upward when he saw the horrified realization on my face. Ever so slowly, ever so tortuously, his hand made its way up my thigh. Lifting his weight off my legs, Hisoka crouched above my thighs and continued sliding his hand up my inner thigh, his thumb moving in little sensual circles.

"No." I tried to squirm under his touch, but my body couldn't move. I was paralyzed. "No! Please, Kami, no! Hisoka, stop! No!"

Sharply, I jackknifed up in my bed, finding myself trapped by something. Fiercely I kicked and struggled only to discover that I'd tangled myself even tighter in the twisted sheets. Shredding them with clawed hands, I freed myself. My pajamas were soaked with cold sweat, and hot tears burned my cheeks. My eyes did a quick inventory as I switched on the bedside lamp.

In my heightened emotional state, my brain refused to comprehend that the danger of the nightmare was not real, that Hisoka had been a figment of my warped imagination.

Trembling from the side effects of the lingering nightmare and wound up on adrenaline, I shakily searched the entire bedroom—the bathroom, the air vents, the walk-in closet, and beneath the bed where monsters usually hide. Even when I used _En_ and extended my Nen senses, I could find no trace of Hisoka.

I stood in the middle of the bedroom, then sank to my knees on the carpet and sobbed with relief.

Just another nightmare, just another panic attack.

Weakly, pathetically, I crawled toward the bathroom to retch.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Tomoyo nearly had a panic attack when her violet eyes took in the torn bed sheets, the pillows flung across the room, the colorful vomit trailing to the bathroom, and me curled in the fetal position in the bath tub, blinking big, fat tears. It took her at least a few hours to calm me down so that I wasn't bawling my eyeballs out, bless her golden heart.

After that, the blonde-haired beautician declared her shop closed for the day, cancelling and rescheduling appointments. Then, she calmly cleaned the bedroom and gently persuaded me to take a soak in some nice, hot bathwater. The steaming water soothed my sore muscles, but it didn't heal my emotional issues. I was still tired, shaky on the inside, and completely sapped of energy. It reminded me of the years I spent training with my Masters, those twisted assholes.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled dispiritedly for the hundredth time.

Tomoyo's hands kneaded my back, searching for knots. "Sssh, it's alright, Miko-chan," she said, trying to console me. "It's natural to have nightmares when you're under a lot of stress. I understand."

She didn't understand, not at all, but the fact that she was making an effort to understand had me sniffling all over again.

"Oh, Miko-chan, you've been crying for almost four hours. You're going to make yourself throw up again. Ssssh, you can only cry so many tears before you run out. Sssh…you poor thing…"

I hiccupped, blinking away tears, as the beautician began softly humming a haunting but beautiful lullaby. When I spoke, my voice came out quiet and raspy like I'd been gargling with sandpaper. "…Thank you for, you know, taking the day off to help me out. I'm sorry for being such an inconvenience."

If I wasn't preoccupied with feeling like a ton of bricks had been dumped on me, I would have been utterly mortified by my current situation. I would have refused her help and spent the day, miserably curled up at the bottom of the porcelain bath tub.

"It's okay with me, Miko-chan." Tomoyo's voice was compassionate, understanding. "Even if you never return the favor, I'll always assist you when you need me. It's what friends do, right?" She continued her melodious humming, running her fingers through my hair and along my scalp.

I was quiet a moment before answering, "Right."

Seconds later, we both heard a man singing faintly. _"Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be. As a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy. Take your time. Hurry up. Choice is yours. Don't be late. Take a rest as a friend, as old memoria."_

"It's my phone," I sighed, lacking the strength or will to retrieve it. Too exhausted from the nightmare.

"I'll answer it," Tomoyo offered. Her hands stopped running through my hair and I felt her weight leave her bed. "That's Tsukasa-sama's ringtone, right Miko?" She…left off the honorific. If I wasn't mistaken, this was Tomoyo's way of implying she considered me a close friend.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "You don't have much time before you miss the call, though. Thank you again, Tomoyo." I really owed her for this. How long had it been since someone had taken care of me without griping or resentment? Over five years… How long had it been since I'd had a friend? About seven years…

But could I really begin a friendship with Tomoyo?

As much as I'd tried to be professional and distance myself from her, the blonde was…persistent, patient, and empathetic—all things I sorely lacked. It had been hard to keep up a front with a happy-go-lucky beautician determined to get to know me. Then I'd gotten stumped on a strategy to assassinate a guy, since strategizing hadn't been—still isn't—one of my strong points. Tomoyo had helped me not only with that assignment, but another, and we'd always been friendly acquaintances. I'd always enjoyed our visits.

But a friendship, now? When there was a distinct possibility that Hisoka or one of the two remaining triumvirate members might kill me? What if an assassin crept out of the wood work and harmed or kidnapped Tomoyo as leverage to kill me?

Lost in a swirl of endless possibilities, I glanced up sharply from staring at Tomoyo's flowery bed comforter to see the beautician entering the bedroom, my gray cell phone in her left hand. She offered me a congenial smile as she approached. "The boss says you're in the clear, Miko," she informed me, "which is a good thing, I'm guessing. I had no idea you were in trouble with the coalition. Tsukasa-sama also apologizes for his rash words and hopes you will recover quickly from your illness." Setting my cell on her bedside table, the blonde flopped beside me on the bed.

Well, I had one less thing to worry about—my job security.

"Oi, Miko," Tomoyo continued, poking my side causing me to twitch, "when did you and the boss fall out of good terms? You two used to be pretty good friends. I always did enjoy the witty banter you two exchanged. What happened?"

I rolled over onto my back, threading my fingers behind my head as I gazed up at her cream-white ceiling. "I got one of his close friends murdered." I purposely omitted the fact that Hisoka was the murderer and Tsukasa's dead friend was my rival, Yukio Genji. "Tsukasa has every right to be mad at me. I…acted unprofessionally."

It wasn't hard to pick up the blonde's sharp gasp.

"It wasn't intentional," I quickly added to clear any forming ideas that involved deliberate sabotage or revenge. "We were both in an equal amount of danger. I got lucky."

Little did I know that luck had nothing to with it.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Dim light filtered through my closed eyelids. A bead of sweat raced down from my temple, along the side of my face, and dripped onto the carpet. Another droplet shortly followed suit. My jaw clenched as I fought to maintain _Ren _longer but it was like pushing a dead car uphill—you could only go against gravity for so long before it won. The same rule applied with nature and Nen; a Nen user can't exceed his or her limits but that didn't mean those limits couldn't be tested, pushed, or raised.

_One hour and nineteen minutes._

Not much of an improvement from being able to sustain Ren for a solid hour without rest.

But I swear on my own grave that these past nineteen minutes ranked among the top ten for most exhausting and difficult to endure. This wasn't much different from a twenty-six mile run—a brilliant training idea thought up by Yin to test my physical endurance. The brilliant part? I didn't have the training to consistently run for twenty-six miles. By mile sixteen, the only power that kept me moving one foot in front of the other was sheer will and pride.

_Ren_ sustaining training wasn't much different. Sweat, physical strain, shallow and harsh panting to catch the next breath, growing exhaustion, the desire to give up—it was the same for running and _Ren_. The only difference was with _Ren_, you didn't move anywhere.

One hour and nineteen minutes…damn, the seconds were ticking by too slowly.

With a long sigh, I returned to _Ten_ and glanced at the clock, my eye twitching. "I swear, that clock was waiting for me to give up," I growled, scowling at the innocently glowing digits. Another full minute had passed, and I'd been _seconds_ short of holding Ren for an hour and _twenty_ minutes.

Abruptly, the penthouse front door burst open, and a buxom, energetic angelic figure bounded in. "Hisoka-san booked a-AH! What the hell, Miko! Are you trying to kill me?" she demanded, pointing at the stiff sock partially embedded into the doorframe beside her head. It went limp and fell to the floor without my _Shū_.

"You startled me," I countered irritably, "so I reacted instinctively!" Truth be told, Tomoyo managed to sneak up on me and I'd reacted like I'd been trained to. My head had been preoccupied by the advice bestowed upon me by my oh-so-wise Masters.

After the beautician had left to open shop, I gave my Nen trainers a ring and endured their overlapping complaints about how I 'never' called, how I ought to call them more often, how they missed me, and so on (they frequently finish each other's sentences)…until they finally asked _why_ I called.

I asked them for advice on how to become stronger.

_That_ question got Yin and Yang laughing uproariously. Between laughs, they wheezed that I was unimaginative, pitiable, asked if I really was a genius, and they swore they taught me better.

Yin and Yang then asked what I'd accomplished, training-wise.

I told them.

They laughed some more.

Finally, those annoying assholes advised—challenged, actually—me to sustain _Ren_ for two hours, then three; Yin suggested running long distances without Nen, trying to maintain _Zetsu_ while sleeping (something I've never heard of any Nen-user accomplishing), and signing up to fight and observe combat techniques at the Celestial Tower (he knows fighting is one of my weaker areas); Yang readily agreed with the latter suggestion, adding that I work on strategically planning and being more deceptive in fighting style and life style—two of my biggest weak points, two of Hisoka's strong points.

Ignoring my thanks, they inquired if I'd made any progress on my Hatsu. And, well…I don't even want to think about my useless Hatsu. As I've mentioned once before, I don't even know what it does or what it's supposed to do.

Tomoyo poked my forehead twice. "Quit spacing out and pay attention! This is very, very, _very_ important! I'm only gonna say this once, Miko. As I was saying before I was so _rudely_ interrupted by an evil sock, Hisoka-san booked a private airship heading to York Shin for next Friday at ten forty A.M."

"Thank you for the tip-off but its useless information to me." I rubbed the sore spot on my forehead. "Remember I'm not trying to assassinate Hisoka, so it's not productive to trail after him. I'm trying to nail my clients."

Which reminded me that Kimura's information needed peeking at.

But I would have to wait until Tomoyo gave me several hours alone, and knowing my blonde-haired friend, I would have to pray to Kami for patience. So imagine my surprise when, approximately fifty minutes later, the beautician received a phone call that her grandmother had passed away sometime during the night.

A creepy coincidence? Or a little divine assistance from the Kami? Or fate or destiny?

Either way, whoever my unknown assistant had been, as much as I had wanted to thank them as Tomoyo rushed to catch a train, later I only wanted to get my hands around that unknown assistant's neck and wring it.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Disclaimer: I _do_ own the song _Come as You Are_ by Nirvana on iTunes but that's pretty much the extent of my ownage. Don't own _Dude Looks Like a Lady_ by Aerosmith. The whole ABO blood type or ketsueki-gata originates from Masahiko Nomi, and is completely superstitious.

**Shinigami**: death god

**Yobisute:** when someone who has earned the intimacy can call one by one's name without an honorific.

Btw, if anyone is curious what lullaby Tomoyo was singing, it was _Long, Long Time Ago_, by Javier Navarrete (from Pan's Labyrinth). Honestly, it's a creepy, haunting but mesmerizing lullaby. It's happy like other lullabies but with an undertone of sadness.

_Fun fact_: The plot for this story was inspired when I watched _Predator _for the first time.


	9. In Which I Visit York Shin

Chapter Title: _In Which I Visit York Shin_

**Popular X Different Solutions, Same Problem X Black Bagged**

_"In this century, the most important thing is information." ~Nostrad_

_"Actually, all Hunters are pretty stubborn. They would abandon everything for the sake of getting what they want. What's worse is that they ignore the feelings of those around them." ~Jin Freecs_

As I skimmed over the information, my lower eyelid twitched dangerously.

I wanted to kill someone.

Kimura's four living relatives, Kimura's favorite hangouts, Kimura's addiction to strong alcohol, Kimura's ex-girlfriends, Kimura's workout schedule, Kimura's occasional dabbling with enhancement drugs like steroids, and Kimura's daily schedule—it was all neatly documented on the disks I downloaded. Valuable information I could have used _before_ my face-offs with the human naked mole rat.

Unfortunately, so far I hadn't found anything regarding his two mysterious co-workers or any mentions of meetings. That information was probably encrypted or in some sort of code, meaning I might have to re-read through this garbage again. After all, Kimura was an ex-Blacklist Hunter. Even if he seemed confident that no one could kill him, he might consider that one of his bodyguards was a mole leaking information for money. Or that a pro hacker might infiltrate his electronic security system.

I sighed, scratching my head. "The naked mole rat guy is more complex than I pinned him for. He seemed more like a braggy, bring-it-on kind of asshole…but looking at this, either he or whoever catalogued this—that person had at least half a brain."

Five wasted hours later, I returned to the first disk to scour it again, and this time I would scour it thoroughly. A rather daunting task considering there were eight disks that contained a chunk of the late Higuchi Kimura's life story. As I was finishing up with the first disk, Tomoyo called and informed me that I had the penthouse to myself for a few days; she was helping her family prepare the deceased grandmother's funeral. She also warned me not to go out in public without a disguise because she released the thirty winter images to magazine companies.

"You already have a few fan clubs dedicated to you!" Tomoyo squealed over the phone. "The public loves your adorableness, Miko! Some journalists have already approached me, asking about you! What should I tell them?"

"Tell them…my name is Maiko Shizuka, I'm twelve years old, and I…uh, I like komodo dragons and owls. I'll write out Maiko's life story, personality, and general stats for you, Tomoyo," I told her as I began scribbling down my fictional profile on a piece of blank printer paper. "It'll be on your kitchen counter by the salt and pepper shakers."

"Okie dokie! Talk to you later, my rising star!" Tomoyo hung up before I could begin to say my goodbye. The beautician always did dislike goodbyes.

Shaking my head, I set the phone down on Tomoyo's desk. "Rising star in the assassin realm, now rising star in the fashion industry," I mused with a dry laugh. "If this keeps up, under the Zaoldyeck family, I'll be the second most famous assassin known worldwide…Kami, Tsukasa and the Twins are going to laugh at me." I groaned.

If they did see the pictures, hopefully the Twins would die laughing; those jerks are already pretty old, way past their due date. Tsukasa on the other hand…I wondered if he would call and tease me, like he used to before Yukio's death. Yukio…

My thoughts automatically shifted to his murderer, Hisoka. Kami, that pervert would probably have a hard-on seeing me in princess outfits and winking at the camera. Hisoka, hard-on…should never be in the same mental sentence! Slapping my hands over my eyes, I wildly shook my head to disrupt the slew of twisted images produced by my equally warped imagination.

I had to think of something else, something less provocative, something the exact opposite of provocative…like, uh…like my family!

What if my family saw those pictures?

The blood drained from my head and pooled into my feet as I gasped in horror. I hadn't disguised or altered any of my features for the photo shoots! Tomoyo had refused to do any of that and even threatened to beat me up if I tried…

Despite the fact that I had 'died' several years ago, thanks to good ole _Ten_, I hadn't physically changed much since I really was twelve years old. Some in my home town might say that I hadn't aged a day. My parents and older brother would definitely be spooked if they happened to see a picture with a living girl who looked exactly like my twelve-year-old self.

While my dad and brother weren't likely to stumble across any fashion magazines, my mother…she was totally into modeling and plastic surgery. She always complained the auditioners rejected her because she was seven inches short from the 'perfect height'—five feet, seven inches (I blame her for the 'short' genes).

Knowing my mother, she would definitely see a picture of me, freak out, and show my dad and brother. My older brother would probably say 'whoa', and reason that there are a lot of other girls who look like me, and shrug it off. On the other hand, my dad—the genius I inherited my brain from—might suspect it was me and try to trace a trail back to Tomoyo to confirm his theory.

Then, the wheels in the beautician's head would start turning and if she actually believed my dad—she _is_ pretty gullible, and my dad _is_ uber smart and a tad manipulative—Tomoyo would learn my real name, my real identity, and learn about the secret Hisoka had discovered. No doubt Tomoyo would, out of the goodness of her heart, set up a meeting between me and my dad. We would reunite, cry, hug each other, and my dad would insist on continuing or rebuilding our father-daughter relationship.

As the most intelligent and devious man I've ever met (Hisoka is second), my dad is also the kindest, loving man in the world. The complete opposite of an asshole. Which is why ever other man is (or seems like) an asshole in comparison to my dear dad.

Anyway, if I met my dad or any other family members, I admit I wouldn't be able to stay away from them. Not again.

If all of this happened, not only Tomoyo but my family might become potential targets for assassins. It would render my fake death useless.

"Stupid!" I banged my forehead on the desk. "Stupid! Stupid! Why didn't you think about your family seeing the pictures beforehand? Stupid! Stupid!" Each yell of 'stupid' was emphasized with a bang as my forehead collided with the desk's wooden surface.

I had to fix this. Fast.

"Should Maiko meet her untimely death?" I mused aloud, eyeing the sketchy profile with a different angle. "That might be too harsh since she's just starting out her career. It would be like lighting a candle and then blowing it out, not to mention Tomoyo would beat me up. Hmm…Maiko doesn't die yet, but let's say these winter pictures and any other twelve-year-old Maiko pictures are a few years old. Maiko…uh, agreed to the photo shoot to…make money to pay for dance lessons!"

I always loved dancing…It was an aspect of my pre-Miko self that I tried to keep.

"Since it has…been a few years, Tomoyo has…lost contact with Maiko," I mumbled as the words were written on the paper by my hand. "Last Tomoyo heard…Maiko was a…part-time waitress in Weibner Creek Valley." Ironically enough, in Weibner Creek Valley there was a waitress who looked like a fifteen-year-old version of me. Maybe she would play along and enjoy the fame.

That should fix any potential conflict that could arise with my family, and hopefully, it would divert the spotlight from me.

A relieved sigh blew past my lips. Crisis averted.

Now back to the grueling, bothersome task of wading through Kimura's life…

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

At the ungodly hour of four in the morning, I found an unfamiliar name that I must have accidentally skimmed over before—Vicktor C. Spurgeone. Seems Kimura had an appointment to meet with this man at a rural onsen or hot spring named Steamy Waterfall. Verbatim, the typed symbols read:

_Victkor C. Spurgeone  
__Japan—Steamy Waterfall  
__November XX_

Japan was a small set of islands that was largely ignored by the rest of the world. A little research showed that the country was known for its green tea, hot springs, anime, chopsticks, sushi, and dango, among other things. While some parts of Japan had modernized, most of the country had not been industrialized and remained jungle-like, still in its back-in-the-era days.

Kimura and this Spurgeone guy were meeting face-to-face in a somewhat remote location without having to worry about being spied on by cameras or other recording technology. Either of them could have bodyguards hidden, posted outside the hot springs, while some were disguised as fellow customers in the same hot spring pool.

Again, not a bad set up.

When I tried researching Vicktor Spurgeone on the Hunter website, the only information I could buy was that he was nineteen years old and was connected to Intelligence Corporation because this Spurgeone guy wasn't a Hunter. No available medical records, no dental records, no phone numbers listed under that name, and I couldn't get a hold of his tax records.

The pesky guy was practically a phantom.

Even _Tomoyo_ couldn't get any dirt on him!

Meaning either Spurgeone hadn't bothered integrating himself into the present century out of laziness, or Spurgeone was avoiding society and technology. The latter was far more likely. If I lost this guy in Japan, he would be a royal pain in the ass to track, especially since I didn't have any other leads on him; considering the lack of information, it was safe to guess that Vicktor C. Spurgeone was one of the three heads of Intelligence Corp.

I had approximately two weeks to reach Japan, scout the onsen, and scheme.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Tomoyo pouted. "Do you really have to go, Miko? I wanted to take some more pictures! The magazine companies are eating them up like candy. Plus I made you some new, cute costumes! Since you're an assassin and you could die at any time, I don't know if you'll ever get a chance to wear them!" She put her hands on her hips.

Releasing _Ren_, I let out an exhausted sigh and fell down on my butt, tired and bathed in sweat. Now I could sustain _Ren_ for an hour and twenty-one minutes. Two minutes of progress from an hour and nineteen minutes—incredibly slow, but the Twins had warned me it takes approximately a month to increase your Ren by ten minutes.

For me, that meant approximately two weeks.

Tilting my head back, I stared up at the irked beautician. "Tomoyo, we spent three whole _days_ doing photo shoots. You have enough images to last you a few _years _if you release them _gradually_. Don't worry. After I nail this guy, I'm coming back here to get those tapes of Hisoka fighting. Phew…_Ren_ is such a strain to hold for long periods."

Tomoyo frowned down at me, wrinkling her nose. "Miko…what if I told you I found a better way to alter your physical appearance? Like, what if I found an easier solution than wearing a disguise?"

Curiosity immediately reared its inquisitive head. "Well…what is it?" I queried a little impatiently.

Although the beautician was fulfilling her dream of making me a star and was selling her products, this new widespread fame put me in the public spotlight—something any decent assassin wants to avoid. Even with the creation of a fictional alias, I couldn't exactly go out in public without a disguise; people would recognize my baby face, my shoulder-length auburn hair, and my big green eyes. If Tomoyo had a better solution to help me avoid the public's eye, I wanted to know. I didn't want to waste a few hours every day adjusting a wig, dying my hair, poking contacts into my eyes, or layering cosmetics on my face.

She scratched near the corner of her mouth with her index finger. "I knew becoming famous would be dangerous for you, so I did some research and I found this Specialization Nen-user who has a Hatsu that, um, ages people. You've always complained that you're sick of people treating you like an ignorant child because you look twelve. I thought you might be interested." The buxom blonde-haired beautician eyed me with a veiled interest, picking at her bottom lip with her fingernails.

"Hell yeah, I'm interested! Why didn't you mention this before?" I asked, eager to learn more. The draining effects of maintaining _Ren_ vanished in the face of curiosity. "Is it painful or something?"

Tomoyo shook her head. "No, not very painful. Maybe some growing pains, but that's it."

"Can the Nen-user control how quickly or slowly the person ages? I really want to skip puberty," I grinned. "That way I don't have to deal with all those icky teenager problems like greasy skin or damn hormones screwing with my judgment."

Giggling, Tomoyo mirrored my grin. "So does that mean you're willing to go through with the aging?"

Um, duh!

But first I wanted a few important questions answered. "Well, how long will this take? What are the risks involved? Is there a possibility I may die? Can you describe the aging process, like how it will work?" Lying on my back, sweating like crazy, I stared up at the beautician eagerly.

She smiled. "The Nen-user can control the speed at which the person ages, so it depends on your schedule. How long do you have?"

"Two weeks from today I have to be in Japan."

Flicking a piece of skin she'd peeled from her bottom lip, Tomoyo tapped her dark pink lips thoughtfully. "How about…nine or ten days for the aging process, and the other days you can use to reach Japan and get accustomed to your more physically mature body?"

I nodded.

As long as I could reach the Steamy Waterfall before the scheduled date or by the date, I didn't care how long this would take. So far, this new solution sounded like my cup of tea, but it sounded too perfect. A Hatsu so powerful it could age a person with minimal physical pain? There had to be a catch somewhere; after all, the world isn't perfect.

"Risks involved? One condition for the Specialization Nen-user to use their Hatsu is that the person's shoukos have to be flowing freely, and that means another Nen-user will have to disrupt your _Ten_. With your life energy pouring out like that, there is a risk that you may die," Tomoyo warned me, "however, you'll be hooked up to multiple machines that will monitor you to lower the chances of fatality. The two Nen-users will work in hour increments, depending on your limit, and they'll stop so you can recover."

The quicker I recovered, the quicker the aging process would go…ergo I would have more free time to adjust to my body and fly to Japan. The quicker I get to Japan and eliminate the potential second triumvirate member, the quicker I would be out of this stupid "kill Hisoka" contract. To recover from the Nen loss, I'd use _Zetsu_ like I did on the Iuam beach to prepare for the death match with Kimura.

Hopefully this aging process would make me a little taller…I mean, my dad is tall—about Hisoka's height—and my mom is five feet tall.

But guess whose height genes I inherit?

My mother's damnable dwarf genes. Life is so unfair!

But, maybe, hopefully I can surpass her five foot height limit. She would be so insanely jealous and pissed off if _I_ was taller than _her_! I'd be _that_ much closer to her dream height of five feet and seven inches. And _she'd_ still be stuck seven inches from modeling height and 'instant' fame.

But even if I didn't gain vertical benefits, age-related respect was something I would relish. Most adults (or the ones I've encountered) generally treat twelve-year-olds like they don't know any better, like they're incompetent or stupid.

If I looked closer to twenty-one…Adults will ask less prying questions to an eighteen-year-old than they would to a twelve-year-old girl.

Girl…

No more being referred to as a 'little girl' or 'honey' or 'dear' or 'bite-sized' or 'fun-sized'. No more younger kids trying to engage me in pointless, imaginary games. No more shopping in the kid's section. No more adults or grandparents pinching my cheeks and cooing how 'cute' I am. No more questions about the location of my parents or if I'm lost. No more being checked for an official ID or barred when trying to enter 'adult' places. No more idiotic rival assassins snickering the nickname 'Pixie' or 'Fairy'. No more Tsukasa calling me 'Tinkerbell' or assigning me childish aliases.

Kami, this was like a miracle specifically tailored for little ole me! Even if death was a risk in this gamble, it was one I was more than willing to take. The possibility of some semblance of respect and maybe new height definitely outweighed some minor growing pains and fatality.

I grinned up at Tomoyo. "What do I have to do?"

Tomoyo frowned down at me and then plugged her nose. "First, go take a shower before your sweat stinks up my carpet permanently. Then, I will pack your outfits, since you couldn't dress fashionably to save your life. Now that you're famous, you can't walk around in that leather jacket and those boots."

"Hey!" I sat up so quickly that my muscles ached in protest, jabbing my index finger toward the blonde beautician. "Don't you dare 'donate' or get rid of that jacket or the boots! I happen to like them, and the jacket is fairly new! I'm wearing them today on the airship just to make sure you don't toss them."

"Fine, fine. Just go take a shower already, Stinky." Tomoyo pointed in the direction of the bathroom, and then waved a hand in front of her face, fanning the air. She used the hand that had been plugging her nose. "Oh, you have to go to York Shin and check into the hotel named the Bellagio Resort."

Bellagio Resort…named after a nearby famous casino, The Bellagio, if I remembered correctly.

"One more thing, Miko," the beautician said as I dabbed my sweaty face with the sleeve of my shirt. "Where did you say you were going after the aging process? I'll either measure you myself or ask one of the other Nen-users to do it for me, and send the tailored outfits to your location."

I blinked. "Japan."

Scarily, the beautician immediately lit up like it was the New Year. "Japan? KYAAA! You'll be so adorable and irresistible in silk kimonos and skin-tight qi paos and blood-red cheongsams! I can just imagine you in them! And standing beside a blooming sakura tree on a clear, sunny day! KYAAA! This is so exciting! If only I could-"

As Tomoyo continued her swooning and ranting, I quickly darted for the bathroom.

"—and elegant cinnabar hair pins and designs featuring beautiful cherry blossoms! The Japanese have such good taste! Miko, make sure when you go there—eh, Miko? Where'd you…?"

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Admittedly, I was edgy in Hein Airport. It was Friday, and as Tomoyo had so kindly informed me, this morning Hisoka had flown on a private airship to York Shin—my current destination. He probably wasn't hanging around the airport waiting but it still made me nervous.

The woman behind the receptionist desk called out, "Next!"

I skipped up to the counter, hoping I looked somewhat childish and cute in a white t-shirt with a red Japanese fan displayed on it and black short shorts…while wearing a leather jacket and boots. With my height, I had to go up on my tiptoes and peer up at the woman. "Hello."

The receptionist, a woman in her early thirties, smiled down politely at me, but her smile was a little strained. "Hello, little girl. How may I help you? Are you looking for your parents?"

In a showy display of speed, I leapt up onto the counter, placed one hand behind the woman's head, and slammed her face into the counter, relishing the sound of her nose crunching. Or, at least, that's how the scene played out in my inner mental theatre…

In real life, I gritted my teeth and bore it with a pleasant smile. "No, ma'am. I want to buy an airship ticket to go to York Shin. You see, it's fall break and my mom sent me some money to spend time with her. She lives in York Shin and my dad lives in Hein." If this woman had half a brain, she would read between the lines and come to the conclusion that my nonexistent parents were divorced.

One of her brown eyebrows rose doubtfully. "Fall break was two weeks ago. I have a son about your age in school."

Well, in that case… "I go to a private school," I lied easily, looking earnest.

Judging by the look on her face, the receptionist thought I was a rich brat. Well, I didn't want to disappoint her.

I pulled out a handful of zeni from my pocket and set it on the counter, ignoring the comical way the woman's hazel eyes widened. "This is what my mom sent me to use to pay for the ticket. Is it enough?" I inquired naively. The look on her face…I couldn't resist a smirk.

"Y-Yes," the snotty receptionist replied weakly. She quietly gathered up the zeni, counted out the amount for the ticket, checked it twice, and handed back the excess zeni. "Would you like to purchase a ticket for the trip back, Miss?" The brown-haired woman sounded polite and cold, and her expression conveyed reserved professionalism. But I knew she thought I was a huge brat.

I pocket the remaining zeni. "Nah, my dad will pick me up in his private jet," I said absently, accepting the printed airship ticket the annoying woman crisply held out. My green eyes scanned the ticket, searching for any traces of subterfuge. There were none.

The receptionist scowled. "Why isn't your father dropping you off at your mother's?" she inquired coldly.

I looked at her like the idiot she is. "Restraining order."

Her hazel eyes widened briefly, and then the receptionist had the decency to look a little embarrassed. She averted her eyes and gave a little cough, but did not apologize for her rudeness. "Please step aside, Miss. You're holding up the line."

"Fine, fine."

She glared at me when she saw my easygoing, arrogant smirk, but the bitch couldn't do anything about it. Sometimes being a brat was fun. Waggling by fingers in a taunting bye-bye manner, I left her counter and dropped off my luggage—my locked, metal weapon suitcase and a bright red backpack containing my clothes—before boarding the airship.

The only reasons I was going to York Shin were because of Tomoyo's directions to check into the Bellagio Resort and wait for the Nen-users to show up; after this aging thing, from York Shin I could get a direct, non-stop flight to Japan. The small country was just north of the Yorubian Continent, where York Shin was located. York Shin…the sleepless, corrupt metropolis where Hisoka was currently lurking.

As the airship landed in York Shin, I smacked my forehead. "It's like you're expecting him to be at the airport, waiting for you. Don't be stupid. York Shin is a big city. He could be anywhere." Of course, that knowledge didn't ease my nerves at all.

Especially not when I picked up my luggage and waited in line to purchase the ticket that would take me to Japan. My eyes anxiously scanned the milling crowd for flaming red hair as the line slowly inched forward. The receptionist behind the desk startled me when he drawled, "Next."

Calmly striding to his reception desk, like a polite young adult, I inquired, "May I purchase an airship ticket to Japan, sir?" In York Shin, brats were either brushed off or put in their place. Better to look like a kid trying to act like an adult.

And the irony is that I _am _an adult.

The bored-looking black-haired man tilted his head down, his expression changed from bored to slightly apologetic. He wasn't handsome, but he was a looker. Just hit his twenties, no doubt. "You might want to wait, Miss. There's a small typhoon on the rampage in Japan so all flights to and from Japan are delayed until further notice."

So much for buying a ticket beforehand.

I blinked. "Oh…Okay then. Thank you for warning me, mister." It was a blip, but nothing I couldn't wait out. Plenty of spare time before the scheduled meeting. Two whole weeks. Or, more like a few days after the aging thing, but who's counting?

He looked bored again, even when he smiled a little. His way of saying_ you-are-welcome_, I guess. Tall, dark, and handsome—a decent-looking model for the typical bad boy, however, unlike the model, this guy was polite and lacked the characteristic arrogance most men displayed. Sadly, he wasn't a Nen-user.

With a sigh, I left the airport and headed toward the Bellagio Resort.

Geez!

After buying all the information about Hisoka and some on the Spurgeone guy, then the airship ticket to York Shin and now hotel expenses…all this moving around and intel-gathering was burning through the money I'd earned from mailing in my fake father's head and some the zeni I'd gotten from selling Kimura's Hunter license. What a pain. Financially, soon I'd be back to square one again, and there was no telling where the other assassins thought Hisoka was. Even if I asked Tsukasa, he wouldn't tell me. He practically snarled he wouldn't help me.

"May I help you, young lady?"

Surprised by the female voice, I sharply glanced up and saw a smiling young woman with cropped pink hair wearing a hotel uniform—a maroon jacket, white undershirt, and a tan slacks. Height: five feet and five inches. Weight: one hundred and twenty-three pounds. An ordinary female with a large bust like Tomoyo, but not a Nen-user.

"Yeah." I leaned back a little, feeling that she was leaning in a little too close. "I would like a room for the night."

The pink-haired woman's smile curled up in amusement, but she treated me with patience. Like she would with a little kid. "And I would like to find my prince, but that isn't happening. I can't let you purchase a room for the night unless you have the money." This condescending woman was hardly better than the snobby receptionist at Hein Airport.

Reaching in my pocket, I pulled out the rest of my zeni and held it out before her in my open palm. "Will this do?" This time, I didn't bother concealing the mild irritation in my tone. It was tempting to pull off this black wig, remove the blue contacts, and let this twit gawk at me. Well, my celebrity self, Maiko.

But I didn't.

Pink-hair gawked at the zeni, then my face. "Wh-Where did you get all of that zeni? Did you rob a bank on your way here?" She was honestly dumbfounded. Since it wasn't likely she was a cashier or particularly wealthy, Pink-hair had probably never seen that much zeni before now, especially not in the hands of a 'twelve' year old girl.

_No, I kill people for this money._

I grinned, placing the zeni back in my pocket. "Don't be silly. My mom gave this money to me for my trip. I'm going to visit her tomorrow."

"Oh? Does your mother live in the city?" Pink-hair inquired. After seeing all that zeni, she seemed much more respectful and sincerely interested in my affairs. Her sincerity was a good trait, but the newfound interest was annoying. Pink-hair headed toward the front desk and I automatically followed.

"No, she lives in Japan."

Moving around the mahogany desk, Pink-hair tapped something on the keyboard and then began typing. "What about your father?"

"He lives in Hein." A quick visual sweep of the lobby revealed it was just me, Pink-hair, and a tall black-haired bellhop. Men and women, mostly thirty years or older, wandered down the fancy hotel hallways in their finery. Most looked fifty years old. Oh, and the bellhop was a Nen-user.

"So your parents are divorced, huh? That's a shame," Pink-hair murmured absently as she typed, and then she paused, her peridot green eyes landing on me. "Would you like to stay in a suite?"

"No thank you."

Was the bellhop a member of the Mafia? York Shin is pretty famous for its association with the Mafia, and rumor is that they have their eyes and ears everywhere within the city. The Mafia practically have their fingers dipped in every pie in the city of dreams. It wouldn't be surprising if those gangsters had a few Nen-users in their ranks…but this guy felt fairly strong. Probably strong enough to hold his own in a decent one-on-one but…I couldn't gauge exactly how strong though. Was he hiding his true strength?

Or, if he wasn't related to the Mafia, was he one of the Nen-users Tomoyo told me to wait for? I couldn't be sure. Damn it all, I should've asked Tomoyo about how these Nen-users would contact me or vice versa. And I couldn't call her now to ask…she didn't get off work for several more hours.

Pink-hair named a price for a room, I plunked the zeni on the counter, she counted it, and she pushed back the excess. As I pocketed the little remaining money, Pink-hair placed two plastic cards in a small envelope on the desk near me. "These are the keys to enter your room," she explained. "Don't lose them because they both have to be turned in when you check out. If you have any questions, feel free to call the front desk. You will have to be out of the room by nine tomorrow morning. I hope you enjoy your stay at our hotel." With that, Pink-hair snapped her fingers to summon the bellhop.

I pocketed the card keys as the tall, broad-shouldered bellhop crossed the lobby and stopped before me. He held out a white-gloved hand and smiled courteously. "Allow me, my lady."

Hesitantly, I handed over my metal briefcase and my bright red backpack. As I did, my eyes briefly glanced over him and my mind did a mental evaluation. Combed down black hair, narrow brown eyes, an aquiline nose, and thin lips…Definitely handsome. Estimated height was a little over six feet tall, and weight…it was hard to tell in the hotel uniform, but it looked good on him. Maybe close to one hundred and eighty pounds.

Still, something about this bellhop bothered me…

Something felt…_off_. Like I should be on guard.

"Please follow me," the bellhop said, still smiling as if he was honestly happy to see me. His smile made my heart flutter like a hummingbird's wings, and I found myself smiling back despite my misgivings. His smile widened in return.

We headed over to the elevator, and my mind hectically flipped through a list of handsome men that I knew. This bellhop's aura felt too damn familiar and yet…it felt different. Maybe that's why I was having trouble pinning a familiar identity to this guy; he was in a different state of mind. The bellhop's aura felt placid, calm like the undisturbed surface of a country lake.

He and I stepped into the elevator when the doors slid open. Out of the corner of my eye, I peered up at the dark-haired man's face. If his aura was calm now, what was it usually like? His facial features like his strong jaw and narrow nose…I'd seen them before.

I _knew_ this guy…but from where? A job?

As if sensing my subtle stare, the bellhop glanced down at me, amused. "Is there something you wanted, my lady?" The elevator binged, signaling that we had reached the second floor, and we stepped into the red-gold-off-white themed hallway.

Casually, I reached in my pocket and pulled out a card key, checking the room number. "No, just making sure you're not rifling through my backpack. My friends say there are quite a few panty-snatchers in York Shin. Where's room 201?"

"You don't need to worry, Miss," the bellhop frowned, picking up on my insinuation that he was a panty thief. "This hotel doesn't hire perverts so your panties are safe." He led me down the corridor and stopped before a white door with the golden numbers 201.

Dropping the card in the slot, I impatiently waited for the red light to go green. The bellhop wouldn't have any reason to stay after he dropped off my luggage. The light color switched to green as the door lock clicked, signaling it was unlocked. Since the bellhop had his hands full with my suitcase and briefcase, I politely pushed and held the door open for him.

And was thanked with a friendly punch to the stomach. A punch packing the force of a huge ass anvil!

The force of the blow literally lifted my feet off the ground and sent me flying back-first into the wall on the other side of the room. The wall cracked under the impact, and despite being protected by Nen, my back, the back of my legs, and the back of my head still hurt like a bitch. The strong bellhop was charging toward me, cranking one fist back to nail me with, and Kami, was this guy _fast_! By the time my back slid down the wall and I landed on my feet, the guy was practically on top of me! It was only thanks to my training and reflexes that my body automatically dove out of the way, performed a front somersault, and landed on its feet before whirling around to face the opponent.

My training screamed for me not to fight but flee before I died, but I disregarded it as I jumped at the bellhop, both my hands modified to long-nailed claws, using _Gyo_. This guy's aura didn't feel powerful enough to worry me. Yanking his fist from the wall, the bellhop avoided five of my quick swipes, each swipe relentlessly followed up by another, but he effortlessly dodged them with a flexibility I had to admire even if it did frustrate me. It felt like the guy was toying with me.

"My, my, I've given you five opportunities," the bellhop mused, "but even so, I can't have you tearing up my uniform. Your swipes have good speed but they are sloppy."

Immediately, I pulled back and felt the blood literally drain from my body and vanish somewhere else. My brain clicked, shuffling the confounding puzzle pieces together and the image the pieces they formed was horrifying familiar. The bellhop's calm aura had morphed to hostile, swirling purple, and his genial smile was replaced with a sinister smirk.

That insane clown! But how did…?

After doing the click trick, my mind jumped ship with my blood, disappearing to a safer place. All I had left was my training, and my training was egging me on to leap out the nearest exit. Without my brain to rationalize, my body went on autopilot and my legs headed for the door. But, even moving at such a speed that the world was a blur, it was no use.

One minute I saw the closed door, the next Hisoka was standing before that door with his knees bent and his arms held out to catch me, glowing a maleficent purple. A sinister smirk and narrowed, eager hazel eyes revealed his excitement. He had anticipated my move.

At my current speed, there was no way I could alter my direction or skid to a complete stop. If I did try to slow down, my momentum would still carry me into Hisoka's arms. There was also the very likely possibility that if I tried to stop, I would trip on my feet, fall, and hit the ground hard; plus with the forward inertia I had built up, I would still tumble into Hisoka and probably break a few bones in the process. Bereft of the options to slow down, change course, or stop, I chose the only other option that came to mind.

I sped up.

With _Gyo_, I could see his purple aura concentrating around his hands and stretching out to connect between his outstretched hands. It almost looked like a Nen-glove, and it finished forming just as I was a few feet from the disguised magician.

Pressing my lips together in a grim line, I locked eyes with Hisoka. His hazel eyes gleamed with anticipation and sick pleasure. His aura felt as murderous and impatient as I remembered it, but it also held a hint of something darker, more threatening than usual.

Just as I broke eye contact, I noticed the purple aura around his hands stretching toward me. I ducked under it and twisted my body to the right, slamming my right shoulder into his gut. Sharp pain jarred through my shoulder, but I took bittersweet satisfaction in knowing I'd done some damage when I heard Hisoka grunt. Another sharp bolt of pain went through my shoulder again when Hisoka's back crashed against the door and the impact traveled through his body and to mine through my shoulder. Surprisingly the door didn't snap or break.

And surprisingly we didn't fall backwards either.

Instead, we flew _in the opposite direction_ if that makes any sense.

We hit the door, and next thing I know Hisoka and I are jerked in the opposite direction of the door. Like we were rebounding or attached to an invisible yo-yo and we were being yanked back into the hand of the invisible controller. And somehow I was stuck to Hisoka's body like I'd been glued to him in my ramming position.

We flew toward the wall my backside had hit earlier…and when I swore we were going to hit that wall again, Hisoka and I were yanked toward the door again, but more slowly. And that happened again and again. We would head toward the door, then the wall, back and forth, back and forth…and each time we did, the pull in the opposite direction became less and less violent as we slowed down.

During this time, I managed to figure out that Hisoka had attached his aura to the wall so that when I slammed into him, it didn't send us flying into the hallway. Then, he used his aura to pull him and me toward the wall to stop us from actually flying into the hallway and lessen some of the force of the impact. Now the magician was using his aura like some sort of bungee cord to slowly stop the forward-backward rebounds.

And, somehow, at the same time, that sly bastard was using his aura to make me stick to his body. The only part of me that wasn't stuck to him were my left arm and my left leg because my right leg had curled up to cushion my impact and was glued to Hisoka's thighs (my knee on one thigh, my ankle on the other).

Also while Hisoka was occupied with that, I'd tried and failed to pull myself from Hisoka. All that had accomplished was now my right hand was stuck to Hisoka's chest. It was no use. My chances of detaching myself from the magician were comparable to a fly's chances of escaping fly paper.

"I thought you said this hotel didn't hire perverts," I scowled, wishing I could peel myself away from his body. Not that his body was disagreeable, but I had no desire to be killed anytime soon. It was a wonder I hadn't died of an aneurysm or heart attack yet. This was definitely worse than handcuffs, fuzzy or not.

"It doesn't," Hisoka chuckled, and I could feel his legs slow to a stop. "The job I have is temporary and boring…or was boring until you showed up." Not too gently, he removed the black wig and hair net. "Not a bad disguise, princess, but you'll have to do better to fool me." A shiver went through me, but I attributed it to the cool air rushing to touch my head.

My stomach and backside began aching as the adrenaline cooled off. "Let me go."

"Let you go? I'm not holding you," Hisoka replied as if he had no idea what I was talking about. In his voice, my ears caught suppressed sensuality…and an accompanying hint of cruelty. "If I remember correctly, you jumped me first which gives me the right to return the favor, my lady." As he said this, his nail tapped the top of my head twice.

I flinched each time, and felt the blood draining from my head. Flashes of the rather erotic dream came to mind. "I'm not your lady," I mumbled with a mild feeling of déjà vu. My mouth went dry. Aside from one foot, I was at his mercy and from what I knew of the magician, mercy was _not_ one of his more notable qualities.

F my life.

Hisoka didn't respond. My head swayed slightly in synch with his inhales and exhales; the maroon vest and white undershirt prevented my ear from picking up his heartbeat or the air rushing in and out of his chest. Despite the two layers of clothing, I could definitely feel some hardcore muscles. This guy was quite the well-built killing machine.

"I will release you after you answer my question," the magician said, ignoring my automatic flinch when he poked the top of my head. "Do you understand and agree to my terms?"

What choice did I have?

"Sure," I replied cautiously.

"Why are you so afraid of me?" he inquired, sounding genuinely curious. "The last time we met you also reacted to me as if we had met before. I found your reaction to me rather…extreme for someone who just met me." Hisoka referred to our brief meeting on Kimura's private island; evidently, it didn't seem like he remembered or recognized me from the Rosetta Restaurant.

I chose my words carefully after a pensive silence. "There are several reasons," I began slowly, "but the one I'll give you is that I was trained to fear and avoid opponents stronger than myself. Neither your aura nor Illumi's gave off happy, friendly vibes." Nothing happened. My body was still stuck.

"What is one of the other reasons?" he asked, evidently not satisfied.

I scowled. "I answered your question." Being stuck to my worst nightmare and unable to properly defend myself—definitely not one of my finer moments in life.

"Please?" His annoying voice sounded so hopeful, so whiny that I was glad he couldn't see me roll my eyes.

"I'll give you two good reasons," I said irritably. "Unlike some gung-ho idiots, I have a healthy sense of self-preservation _and_ despite what you may think, I am smart enough to know that even if I did try to attack you, it would be futile…and I'd be suicidal. Can you release me? _Please_?" The last word came out as more of a whiny demand but Hisoka complied.

My left foot touched the deep red carpet first as gravity pulled me down, against Hisoka's well-built body. I staggered back, almost falling backwards, but my right foot caught my weight and I managed not to gracelessly fall on my ass. At first, I stayed standing at least two feet away from the red-headed magician, eyeing him with suspicion and surprise, unable to help my blush. Hisoka had actually kept his word.

The corners of his lips tugged upward in a small, sly smile. Even though it was small, the smile enhanced his handsome aristocratic face. "I suppose those are good reasons, but despite the futility of attacking me, you did charge me," he pointed out, straightening his uniform jacket and smoothing out the wrinkles.

I backed a few feet away from him, crossing my arms. "I did not charge you. You jumped in the way of my escape route and my shoulder." I totally ignored the fact that I had actually tried to attack him. Temporary insanity on my part.

My right shoulder _really_ hurt right now. It was probably jammed from ramming into Hisoka's wall-like six pack abs, and anybody who plays sports or has had the misfortunate of coming face-to-face with a wall should know that the wall _always_ wins. My proof was that the red-haired trickster wasn't even hurt! He was running his hand through his dyed, black hair like nothing had happened. _Me_, on the other hand—I had a bruised stomach, a jammed shoulder, and the entire back half of my body hurt.

Hisoka's hand paused in his hair, and his slanted, half-closed hazel eyes regarded me with feline-like musing. "You should know that you cannot escape me, Kohana…Or should I say, Maiko?" The shrewd, arrogant look on his handsome face made me want to reach out and stretch his cheeks. He wouldn't be nearly as arrogant or handsome with his face stretched sideways.

"Neither. It's Miko," I corrected him. "Will you tell me why you're a bellhop in the hotel I happened to choose? You said the position is only temporary. Did you choose it because you knew I was coming?"

He chuckled. "Don't flatter yourself. You're the one who chose the hotel I came to first, princess. We only met because we're tied together by a little, invisible red string called destiny."

"Hmph," I quietly huffed, ignoring his seer bullshit and pointed out, "If I wanted to hear about destiny or fate, I would have seen a fortune-teller or mystic. Our meeting here is purely coincidental and you're avoiding saying _why_ you're here."

"There's no such thing as coincidence, princess," Hisoka replied quite seriously, so seriously that it made me shiver a little. "As for why I'm here, it's to return a favor to a friend."

Looking completely unruffled and like he hadn't been in a scuffle, the black-haired jerk smoothed down his jacket one more time with one hand. "I think that maybe one day we could become great friends, Miko," he commented out of the blue. "But you'll have to be careful. I like you." Hisoka threw in a teasing wink and a devilish, debonair smile.

For some explicable reason, that smile made me feel nauseous. "I can't say the feeling is mutual, Prince Charming," I said dryly, disconcerted that the magician was interested in me. That meant I would be seeing more of him. Dammit! What did that circus reject find so interesting about me?

"My foresight indicates otherwise, princess," Hisoka assured me. Pivoting on his heel, the bellhop-magician headed toward the door but stopped with his hand on the golden handle. "Next time when we fight, I expect you to hit me at least once. Just so you know." He turned the handle and opened the door, but I couldn't let him leave with the last word.

"Hisoka."

He paused in the door threshold, glancing over his shoulder.

"Red looks better on you. Just so you know," I said, parroting his words with my mimicry of his arrogant smirk. Maybe it would throw him off. After all, he had been reading me like an open book the entire night and I didn't like it. It was actually frightening how easy he could anticipate me.

But the way his lips curved into a little smirk told me that he wasn't fooled. "I'll keep that in mind," he smiled before exiting my room and quietly closing the door.

I shuddered lightly, then looked around the room and my eyes bugged. "Holy—sweet Kami above!" my mouth blurted out as I assessed the damage. One wall had a giant crater-like indent in it and a Hisoka-fist-sized hole; and the door Hisoka had walked out of was sagged outward and had several noticeable cracks.

Of course, with Hisoka gone, my brain began drowning in pain messages from my sore body. I shuffled to the bed, flopped on it with a groan and cradled my stomach. "Kami…" I moaned. Hopefully the two Nen-users wouldn't delay the aging process because of these wounds.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Later that night (before the crack-of-dawn hours), when the door lock clicked, I jackknifed into a sitting position on the bed, and was not surprised to see a familiar, smiling face peer into my damaged, dark hotel room. With the hall light haloing the back of his head, he could probably see me sitting on the bed, staring at him, my arms folded under my chest.

"Hisoka, why are you trying to sneak into my room?" I asked, seriously considering sleeping under the hotel bed tonight. My body would be stiffer and achier in the morning but soreness was better than being molested in my sleep.

Ever since Hisoka left, I'd been wondering if he would come back again just to harass me, especially since he seemed to enjoy it so much. I stayed up as a precautionary measure to test my hypothesis that the magician would try for an encore performance. He didn't disappoint.

"I forgot to say goodnight." Thankfully, Hisoka stayed in the doorway with the hall light illuminating his backside, however, this lighting also obscured his face.

If the circumstances had been different, I could almost imagine myself back in my own bed at home and my dad standing in the doorway. Usually my dad would sit on the bed, we would hug, and then he would give me a goodnight kiss on the forehead. But Hisoka was definitely not my dad! And I hoped the magician wouldn't try to plant a goodnight kiss on my lips.

Not that I would say mention that to Hisoka. He didn't need me giving him ideas.

I hoped he couldn't see my shoulders tensing in the darkness. "Goodnight," I said quietly, hoping that was the magic word to make him disappear.

"Good night, princess," Hisoka murmured, his voice soft and seductive. The way he slowly pronounced each word, the way they rolled off his tongue gave each word a whole new depth and meaning. Goosebumps unrelated to cool air rose on my skin, and I shivered as he leaned back. The door closed quietly, cutting off the hallway light and the lock clicked, activated.

I was definitely sleeping under the bed tonight.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

The Nen-users didn't show up during the night or in the morning, much to my irritation.

A mild pet peeve of mine was wasting time, and in my opinion these people were as bad as Blondie when it came to tardiness. As I waited, I ate a delicious York Shin breakfast—a fried egg, a warmed poptart, and Earl Grey tea. To occupy and prevent myself from punching holes in the already damaged wall, I began mechanically going through my daily exercise and stretch routine, and then _Ten_ meditation.

Not long after I'd finished _Ten_ meditation, I was debating whether or not to go ahead and try to maintain _Ren_ for another two or three minutes, which would boost my overall sustaining time to an hour and twenty three or twenty four minutes.

However, as much as I wanted to boost my aura's strength, I didn't want to be worn out and smelling like B.O. if the Nen-users decided to drop by. Having my shoukos flowing freely would be exhausting and dangerous, and some nagging feeling in me was gently warning that I would need to save my strength.

But pacing aimlessly in the fancy schmancy hotel room was driving me crazy! Crazy enough to kill some random person on the street, or crazy enough to seek out Hisoka (which is crazy in itself) and try to punch his pretty face as payment for my bruised stomach and backside.

It was a wonder that the irritating magician hadn't shown up to bask in my bloodthirsty aura. If he was still working as a bellhop at the hotel, that is.

My musings on my undecided course of action—maintain _Ren_ or pick a fight with Hisoka—were interrupted by a curt knock on the hotel door. The sound displaced my bloodlust-laced killing edge but, as I eagerly approached the door, I could feel my temper lurking just under the surface of my anticipation. If it was some hotel-related staff member, like a cleaning lady…Kami save their damned soul.

Sensing two unfamiliar auras that definitely did not belong to Hisoka or Illumi Zaoldyeck, eyes blazing with _Gyo_, I unlocked and swung open the door with an amiable smile. "Hello," I greeted with all the naivety and innocence of a twelve-year-old.

The bizarre appearances of the people standing before me were a little startling at first, but then again, in assassination, there are some pretty weird and freaky looking kooks in the business. Most of the ones I've met don't even look fully human or human at all. Most human assassins or Blacklist Hunters I have met were usually on an errand of vengeance or somewhat mentally unstable. I mean, look at Hisoka. He's a Blacklist Hunter, he dresses like a circus clown or a modern day jester, but I don't think he's crazy. Or if he is, he hides it very well.

Anyway, the guy on the left was pretty tall and lean. Maybe six feet and five inches in height, and about one hundred and fifty-seven weight-wise. His appearance screamed 'badass' and 'demonic'—black biker outfit, the heavy duty boots, a black trench coat with white fur lining the hood, the cigarette hanging from between his lips, the red eyes, the multiple ear piercings, and the long spiky black and white hair framing his pale face. His aura was even blood-red and held some bitterness or malice to it.

He looked like he'd stepped out of a dark vampire novel to kick some ass.

His companion was no less peculiar.

With chocolate-colored skin, long braided sea-green hair, and wide unfocused amber eyes, the forty-year-old woman seemed ready to step into a night club for a dance or two. Her outfit—a plain black coat, a leopard skin tube top, and leather pants—indicated as much. However, she was forty-years-old and was loosely holding onto her intimidating companion's hand like a lost child. Her unfocused gaze and the dazed, sleepy look on her face made me realize she might be mentally absent. But her physical appearance was too well-kept for her to be completely separated from reality…

She was like…like a living doll.

Or it was as if someone, like the vampirish man beside her, had snatched her soul from her body and now she was an empty shell. A living yet dead person—a paradox. But this sea-green-haired forty-year-old had a fairly decent aura. Could her early senility be a charade?

The vampire-guy removed the cigarette from his mouth, poised the smoking thing between his index and middle fingers, and grinned down at me. His smile was crooked, almost shark-like. "Damn. If I hadn't been warned beforehand about your cutesy bullshit, I would have sworn we had the wrong room." As he spoke, smoke streamed past his lips like he naturally exhaled it. "Are you seriously twenty-one?" he asked, shortly before taking a drag from his cigarette.

My repressed temper leaked through my forced courtesy. "I know it seems difficult to believe…but yes, I am, asshole," I replied with a sweet smile, maintaining my polite twelve-year-old act.

Purposely blowing a jet of disgusting smoke down at my face, vampire-guy gave a sharp bark of a laugh. Nothing like Hisoka's soft, eerie chuckles, but both sounded menacing. "Don't try to patronize me, little Gingersnap," he sneered, his lip curling. "Although I like that pretty mouth of yours, better keep that forked viper tongue behind your pearly whites or I'll put you in a world of hurt."

I coughed, swiping at the smoky air in front of my face, my eyes watering. "Wanna bet, you bastard?" my mouth automatically shot off. After anxiously waiting an entire night and morning, and wasting all that time, I was rearing for fight. Who did this asshole think he was, showing up a day later and treating me like a petulant child?

One side of vampire-guy's mouth curled up and he opened his mouth to speak some undoubtedly clever remark, but he was interrupted by his companion. "Red," she said tonelessly, her voice quiet and whispery like she didn't use it much.

Vampire-guy—whose name seemed to be Red—shut his mouth and glanced down at his side toward the woman who was still staring off into space. Then, sticking the cigarette between his lips, he inhaled before dropping the cigarette on the hall carpet, crushing and grinding it under his boot heel. "Let's go," he suddenly said, exhaling smoke. "We've wasted enough time already. Got your shit together, Gingersnap?" His white eyebrows rose.

I didn't appreciate the new nickname. Princess would have been more preferable. "Do you even need to ask, Bleach Boy?" I queried sarcastically, crossing my arms impatiently. "I was ready before you even got up this morning."

Red rudely pushed past me to enter the hotel room, gently pulling his quiet companion by her hand. I had to step aside to avoid behind trampled on, but it was pretty incredible to see the same man act so callously toward one female yet so thoughtfully toward another. At the exact same time.

"Well then, Ginger, I hope you're not claustrophobic," Red the vampire-guy grinned sadistically as he held up a black-gloved hand before him. With a wave of his wave, an old-fashioned black truck materialized on the ground beneath his hand. Admittedly, the black-and-gold scheme as well as the design was beautiful, ornate, and so smooth I would have liked to run my hands over it; but my Nen masters taught me never to trust any materialized object. So this guy was a Materialization type…

As a response to his smirk, my auburn eyebrows rose. "A trunk? How lame."

His shark-like smirk didn't diminish. "Expected a coffin, didn't you?"

"It would have been cooler," I said with a shrug, using a wry smile to conceal my unease. First Hisoka could read me like he knew my mind, then Tomoyo kinda picked up on the mind-reading ability, and now this almost random stranger I'd met five minutes ago? My face must be more open than I thought, or my thought process was too damn predictable.

That needed to be changed.

Predictability in the assassination business, in any underground business was bad. From predictability and routine came patterns…and patterns could be analyzed, predicted. From those predictions, someone could use a modus operandi to find and eliminate me. That's how the police operated. They used patterns to find criminals, then track them or predict their next move, and if the criminal wasn't careful or clever, he was caught.

Red shrugged as he kicked open the trunk lid. "Shut up and get in."

So eloquent.

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my weapon case and red backpack, mentally comparing this brutish asshole to the annoying perverted magician. If I compared both men to alcohol, Hisoka was more like a fruity margarita—dangerously smooth, so subtle that the sweet fruit hid the alcohol taste, and seemingly innocent but would knock you on your ass so hard you would wake up naked and wondering what the hell happened. On the opposite end of the spectrum, this Red guy was more like grain alcohol or pure vodka—rough, unrefined, unsweetened, dangerous in a brutal kick-you-in-the-teeth way.

I dropped my practically indestructible metal suitcase into the trunk first, peering over the edge. Amazingly, the bottom was a lot further down than it looked. The trunk's white windowless, door-less interior reminded me of those white-washed rooms you find crazy people in. My suitcase agreed with a metallic clank as it solidly hit the floor.

An impressed whistle blew from my lips as my eyebrows rose. "Glad I didn't leap before I looked."

Red chuckled darkly. "I can make the bottom as shallow or deep as I wish," he informed me. "If you want, I can raise the bottom and make steps appear for your Highness." His tone was mocking, derisive, and for some reason that really pissed me off. Not the steps thing, but him calling me 'your Highness' with such contempt.

Feeling a blossom of anger burst in my chest, I flipped him the bird as I irritably dropped my red backpack in the trunk next. Because it was packed with clothing, it landed with a dull whump. "No thank you, I think I'll walk." It would take a complete idiot to mistake the cool anger in my frigid tone for some other emotion.

His snowy white eyebrows shooting up, Red seemed surprised by my mood swing from reluctant to royally ticked off. "Sorry, little lady, but no can do," he said calmly with some measure of politeness, even if it was more of a whoa-this-bitch-is-crazy politeness. "Our secret base is, well, secret and we intend to keep it that way so you can't see the way in or its location. My companion and I tend to live longer if our secret base stays secret."

"Why didn't T warn me about this?" I grumbled, eyeing the smooth obsidian trunk with distrust.

Red shrugged in a hell-if-I-know manner. "Just quit bitching and hop in already. You have some kind of deadline, don't you?"

"Yeah," I admitted slowly, my sense of unease growing. Vampire-guy mentioned being warned about my 'cutesy bullshit' and he knew about my deadline. How much had Tomoyo told these guys? Why had she told them so much about my plans? Why did I get the feeling that I was being left in the dark?

Placing my right hand on the trunk's edge, I pushed those ugly thoughts away. Although these two weren't fakes posing as the Nen-users Tomoyo had sent to meet me (Red's knowledge about my cute act and deadline provided sufficient proof), I berated myself for being unnecessarily paranoid. The mistrust was probably stemming from this kill-Hisoka contract and feeling alert most of the time. No, these guys were going to 'help' me alter my physical appearance in a way that plastic surgery couldn't. Would it hurt to act like an adult and acquiesce to their plea for a little secrecy and privacy?

I was about to leap over the edge and into a trunk when a hand on my shoulder stopped me.

"Yasu."

Starting badly from the unexpected physical contact, I whirled around and flinched again, finding myself nearly face-to-face with the sea-green-haired forty-year-old woman. Even up close, her glassy amber eyes stared at me, but their gaze went through me. Exactly like a chocolate-colored doll's.

"Wh-What?" I stammered, leaning back.

"Yasu," she repeated tonelessly. "My name."

I glanced at vampire-guy for a little guidance, but he seemed just as bewildered as me. Swiveling my head back toward her, I forced a smile that I'm afraid looked more like a grimace. "I see. Um, my name is Miko."

Her unblinking stare unnerved me. "Crimson truth, beautiful child, shaman woman, sorceress, princess," she listed off. Her whispery voice was flatter than Illumi Zaoldyeck's. "A very fitting name."

I realized Yasu had been rattling off the different definitions of my name, and I'll never admit this aloud, but it shook me when she whispered 'princess' in her soft eerie voice, a voice that reminded me very much of Hisoka. I shivered, aware that I was staring wide-eyed at this creepy doll-like woman. I'd also never admit this out loud, but I would almost rather deal with the suave red-headed magician than this woman. At least _he_ was lucid.

Seeing I was freaked out, Red reached out and touched the forty-year-old woman on the arm. "Yasu," he said quietly.

His touch and his voice didn't appear to have a visible effect on her. Oh no, Yasu continued staring right at me and talking. Well, right through me. "Do you know about the pain?" she asked softly. Seeing my blank face, she frowned very, very, _very_ slightly. "You don't, do you?"

_What the…I don't speak psychobabble, crazy lady!_

That's what I would have said if I'd been capable of speech at that moment, but a cat had run off with my tongue.

Vampire-guy reacted like any other clueless badass would in his situation. Wrapping his gloved hand around the woman's dark upper arm, he gave her a slight yank towards himself so she stumbled and fell against his chest, her hands on his ebony shirt. She still looked dazed and sleepy, but her mouth had opened in a little 'o'. As she tilted her head back and stared up at him, Red gave me an apologetic but still shark-ish-looking grin. "Sorry you had to witness that, Gingersnap. It's not often that Yasu goes all philosophical and deep around strangers."

"Uh huh." I stared at the odd couple with wide eyes, still unnerved.

Red cleared his throat. "Why don't you get your sweet, little ass in that trunk and we'll get this akward business over with?"

Disregarding the reference to my ass being sweet or little, I eagerly jumped into the obsidian trunk without any more questions, practically diving in. Sweet Kami above, what in the name of hell had I gotten myself into?

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Back in Hein, Tomoyo sat at her kitchen table, listlessly tapping her manicured nails on the smooth tabletop as she stared anxiously at her pink phone. Without Miko, her penthouse seemed unusually large and empty although Tomoyo knew that was ridiculous. The size of the penthouse hadn't changed but the beautician attributed the sense of loss with the adorable assassin's departure.

Because of her connections and vast social network, she rarely invited company to her home. Too dangerous. But Miko, that little gingersnap, was different from other assassins. Tomoyo couldn't quite put her finger on it but she knew Miko didn't kill for the money or the fame. She could still remember the assassin's words during one of their interactions…

_"Me, famous? I guess that's good for marketing my skills but…I don't know. Isn't it kinda dangerous for an assassin to be famous?"_

Tomoyo pinned the auburn-haired killer as someone who was dealing out her own cocktail of justice. Other assassins she interacted with commonly had goals connected to money, fame, revenge, or they were simply mentally unstable. It wasn't as common but some assassins or Blacklist Hunters chose their profession to protect the weak, to help those who couldn't protect themselves. The blonde knew that, other than Tsukasa and her mentors, Miko had no one else…but if Tomoyo had to choose a category, she would place Miko in the latter group.

_"Kono tsukiakari no shita de watashi no namae o yonde…"_

The beautician started with a gasp, her hand shooting out impulsively to grab her ringing cell phone.

"_Tashika ni ai ni yuku yo doko de mo…"_

An unknown caller, a blocked number. Perfect.

_"Kimi no sob—"_

"Well?" Tomoyo inquired impatiently, her anxiety reaching its pinnacle. She clenched one hand in her lap, her nails digging into her palms.

"Gingersnap came with us without any hitches," the man on the other side of the line informed her, unperturbed by her snappiness. "She seems a little hesitant but we're transporting her to our base to begin the process."

"Understood."

Although she felt like torn inside, Tomoyo reminded herself this was necessary. She was the one who had put Miko in danger by bringing the public spotlight on her, so naturally it was her responsibility to protect Miko from danger. Unfortunately, her plan to get Miko to drop assassination and pick up fashion and modeling for her company hadn't been successful. Tomoyo suspected that the auburn-haired assassin hadn't even considered switching careers.

There was a pause before her associate spoke. "You know, friend or not, she will probably kill you," the man named Red drawled. "Even if you say it's for her own benefit, she won't thank you for the pain you're putting her through, especially since you didn't warn her beforehand."

"I know…"

She hated to do this to Miko but the assassin was dear to her, and Tomoyo wanted to ensure that she lived so they could do more photo shoots together. It would be such a waste for all those costumes to gather dust in the closet. She was only doing this protect Miko.

"You already warned me that the aging process would be excruciatingly painful," Tomoyo continued, "so painful that those subjected to it beg for death or go insane, but if she gets to that point, stop the process immediately. Make sure she doesn't try suicide. Drop her off in Japan when her condition stabilizes."

"Understood. I'll call to instruct you about payment, and I'll provide a picture for proof." That said, he hung up.

Tomoyo set her pink cell phone on the table, and let out a long, weary sigh. Now came the tricky part—the operation itself. Her associate had tried to explain the accelerated aging process to her, but Tomoyo couldn't remember most of the explanation. Something about disrupting Miko's _Ten_ so her open shoukos flowed freely and a Specialization-slash-Manipulation user's technique but Tomoyo's mind was fixated on his description of the pain.

Excruciating.

Torturous.

Makes one regret they were born.

Makes one wish they were dead.

Even thinking about her most painful past events, the blonde beautician knew they would be nothing compared to what her friend would experience. Her violet eyes blurred with tears. Burying her face in her hands, Tomoyo wondered if she was making the right decision. Her goal for contacting those people to perform the accelerated aging process was to protect Miko from assassins who might recognize her, from obsessive fans, from the hounding media…It was to protect her anonymity in order to protect her life.

All those people…they would be searching for a girl who looked twelve-years-old. They would never suspect that the very same girl was among them but looked fifteen or sixteen. Tomoyo was willing to bet that even Miko's other acquaintances—Tsukasa-sama, her mentors—wouldn't recognize her after she aged a few years in a little less than ten days.

But to age so quickly in such a short amount of time…it would definitely be painful. And there was a possibility Miko could die during the procedure.

Tomoyo knew from firsthand experience that one could only allow their shoukos to leak freely for so long before it resulted in death. She had almost died when her shoukos had been forced; by the time she learned _Ten_, she hadn't been able to lift her arms to push herself from the floor. But Tsukasa had told her that Miko was a genius. Tomoyo hoped that Miko's genius could pull her through.

The beautician shifted her hands from her face so that her palms were together. "Dear Kami, please don't let my friend die," she prayed, whispering.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

AN: The date was Xed out for your personal safety! If you knew the exact date, Miko would have to kill you.

Disclaimer: Tomoyo's ringtone is the song used in the ending theme of Darker Than Black—Tsukiakari by Rie Fu; I don't own the elevator operator in the Sky Arena (basis for the Hein receptionist); I don't own Hei from Darker Than Black (basis for bored-looking York Shin receptionist); I also do not own Sakura from Naruto (basis for pink-haired hotel girl); I took the liberty of borrowing the name 'Bellagio' from the movie Ocean's Eleven; and Red is a combo of Haru Souhma from Fruits Basket and Heine Rammsteiner from the manga Dogs with some of Hidan's attitude (Hidan from Naruto); Yasu's attitude based off the doll Yin from Darker Than Black.

I'd like to thank the fanfiction writers on my Favs for inspiring me and reminding how to keep Hisoka IC! I'd also like to thank my editor for twisting the plot twist even more than I had imagined.

**Nihon**: Japan

**Yasu:** tranquil


	10. In Which I Play with Madness

Chapter Title: _In Which I Play with Madness_

**Chicanery X** **Pain Redefined X** **Switched "On"**

_"At my signal, unleash hell." –Maximus, Gladiator_

_"…Soon the Switch will go." –Illumi Zaoldyeck  
__"Switch? What Switch?" –Hisoka  
__"The Switch that will turn Killua back to his real self." –Illumi  
__"Seems more is going on tonight than you're telling me." –Hisoka  
__"If that Switch goes off, Kill will become a bloodthirsty killer…" –Illumi, from Nightmare of the Zaoldyeck_

When I stepped outside of the trunk, my backpack slung on my shoulder and carrying my weapon briefcase in hand, it wasn't exactly comforting to find myself in a bare, cement room with one bare light bulb hanging above a metal table, a table with new-looking leather straps. Or see both fresh and faded bloodstains on the floor. Or see the only entrance and exit was a metal door with bolts along the outer edges and a thin, rectangular sliding window.

A torture chamber.

"Lovely," I muttered sarcastically under my breath. My stomach and back muscles briefly and painfully twitched as my body automatically tensed. I was liking this situation less and less…

How did the promise of looking my age equate to a torture chamber? While mathematics wasn't my specialty, this wasn't adding up.

"Did you say something, brat?" Mr. Badass sneered, and I half-turned to hold up a certain finger. He casually returned the favor before reaching in his deep trench coat pockets, pulling out a cigarette packet and a red lighter. When the smoking cigarette hung between his lips, he reached in another black trench coat pocket and tossed a wadded up object at me.

Automatically, my hands caught the object and I straightened it out. A standard creamy blue hospital gown, thankfully the kind with a covered backside. "You're joking, right?" My voice held a distinct note of discomfort. He honestly didn't expect me to wear this…thing.

"Do I look like I'm joking, bitch?" Red leered, breathing out a stream of acrid smoke. "The clothes you're wearing won't fit when you finish aging. If you refuse, I'll enjoy peeling your old clothes from your little, pasty body with a knife."

My lower eyelid twitched. Who the hell was he calling little? I scowled. "Fine, turn around."

Rolling his crimson eyes, the white-haired vampirish Nen-user dragged his boots as he slowly turned around, muttering to himself about self-conscious, modest women and sucking at striping. I glanced at his bizarre doll-like companion, Yasu, but she was blankly staring down at her feet, her mouth drooped slightly open in a little 'o'. She seemed…harmless. Mostly.

Quickly and quietly, I removed my outer garments before slipping on the voluminous one-size-fits-all hospital tent…erm, gown. Well, it looked the size of a small tent. I hurriedly stuffed my undergarments into my pant pockets shortly after, keeping my eyes trained on Red's backside. The near nakedness in the company of strangers felt uncomfortable, and I was painfully conscious when the cool hospital gown brushed against my body, especially my ass and nipples. It didn't feel right.

Hell, this entire situation didn't feel right.

Red loudly sighed in exasperation, placing one fist on his hip. "Kami, punk, are you finished yet? If you're going to take so damn long to strip, I'll tear off your clothes for you. You have exactly-"

"Shut up, moron," I interrupted, crossing my arms. The hospital gown wrinkled oddly with the gesture. "I was already finished before you opened your big ass mouth." Honestly, his attitude was pissing me off. Most male Blacklist Hunters shared this guy's arrogance and foul mouth, but this white-haired asshole took crude to a whole new level of low.

"Then why the hell didn't you say so?" he scowled as he turned, his red eyes briefly looking me over. He suddenly grinned sharkishly, amused. "You look like one of those stupid little stick figures that three-year-old kids with no artistic talent scribble on their papers." Without warning, Red's knee shot up and out.

I had seen the subtle shift in body language seconds before the attack and leapt back in an attempt to avoid it, but my reaction was too slow. Vampire-bastard's knee caught me in the stomach—right where Hisoka had slammed his fist the night before.

My throat automatically closed, effectively cutting off any cry of pain. Experiencing a sense of déjà vu, my vision blurred and doubled at the same time as I limply collapsed to the ground, my arms wrapped protectively around my stomach. Pain radiated through my body, stemming from my bruised stomach, and I fought down the sensation of nausea. Bile crept up and slowly retreated down my throat.

"Damn," I heard Red say from above me, sounding surprised. "Usually people vomit after a blow like that…Then again, you're not a normal sweet, little girl."

Seriously, what was with him and 'little'?

In a spurt of rage, I lashed out with one arm, modifying the muscles and bones in my hand to create long claw-like nails. Unsurprisingly, Red easily evaded my wide swat. Immediately, I regretted moving so quickly, even if it was just my arm. My nausea increased tenfold, and a groan escaped my lips as I curled defensively into the fetal position to protect my disturbed stomach. A hand roughly wrapped around my wrist and a boot pushed on my ankle, and then began to pull them in opposite directions, away from my stomach to expose it. I curled even tighter, resisting, and sunk my teeth into the vampire-bastard's pant-covered shin. Thankfully it wasn't leather.

"Fuck!" I heard him swear. Seconds later a fist—the free hand that hadn't been trying to tug on my wrist—nailed me in the side, too close to my stomach. I gagged, my mouth opening reflexively. Red used that window of opportunity to free his leg from my bite and followed up with another blow in the same spot.

My acrid, partially digested breakfast-the fried egg, poptart, and tea—shot up my esophagus but was stopped by where my throat had automatically closed. My Nen Masters had trained me not to scream through forcing me to scream and then cutting off my cries with a swift chop to the throat. Eventually, the Twins could raise their stiffened hands in warning and my throat would automatically close. Now my throat closed itself when I had the urge to scream, but with the disgusting acidic mix in my throat, I felt like I was choking.

My Nen picked up frustration in Red's aura. "Kami, just vomit already," I heard him growl.

The asshole _wanted_ me to vomit?

He would have to live with disappointment because vomiting was pretty damn high up on my list of intense dislikes. It was pretty close in rank with posing for pictures that will be published and being in the same general vicinity as Hisoka. Not to mention it would take a helluva lot more brute force to get me to upchuck, even with a bruised stomach. Yin and Yang weren't known as the Terrible Twins for nothing.

It took Red a combination of several blows and hits before I finally caved and let my breakfast spew out my mouth and onto the cement floor. And let me just say that it tasted better the first time.

"What the hell are you made of?" Vampire-asshole sounded annoyed-satisfied that I was finally emptying my stomach…and mildly awed. "Most hardened Hunters would have vomited after four or five of the blows you took. Are you on steroids or are you just a fucking beast?"

What a hypocrite—calling me a monster and _he's_ the one parading around in vampire attire. Of course, I was too preoccupied with puking up my guts to say this. My mother always did say never to speak with my mouth full, but I don't think she had vomit in mind when she repeated the phrase. As I alternately coughed, gagged and spat out phlegm, I managed to croak, "Asshole."

He shrugged nonchalantly like it couldn't be helped. "Your internal organs are gonna go ape-shit during the procedure. It's less messy for me and less embarrassing for you if you empty your insides now…unless you wanna shit yourself and vomit simultaneously. There's a risk you might choke on your vomit and die, and if you die from something stupid that I could have prevented, I don't get paid for my troubles or the mess. Your immediate health is in my best interest."

"Bullshit," I rasped, spitting out a mouthful of vomit-flavored saliva.

"Personally, I don't give a shit whether you agree with me or not," Red replied with a follow-up shrug. "You don't sign my paycheck. Yasu, bathroom."

A brown hand softly brushed against my forearm, and I flinched in spite of the gentleness of the touch. Yasu nearly bumped foreheads with me as she leaned in, her far-away golden-yellow eyes level with my half-lidded green ones. "Come," she whispered, urging.

I had the strength to lift myself but it would hurt like nobody's business after being punched and stomped on. Therefore, I opted to stay on the floor beside the pile-puddle of this morning's breakfast. Revenge sounded pretty nice. Red would probably be caught off guard if I suddenly attacked him…

The forty-year-old woman's hand wrapped around my upper arm, gently but firmly. "Come."

Not wanting her to go nuts on me again, what else could I do but go with the crazy lady?

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

"WHAT?"

Stripping down and wearing a tent-like hospital gown was acceptable. Being forced to vomit was not acceptable but had to be done…or so the asshole claims. Emptying my bladder and colon on my own violation was relieving. Lying on a now-slanted metal table was no big deal. And getting my arms, legs, torso, and head strapped down? Been there, done that, used to it. Having needles and monitors and tubes stuck into me to measure my vitals? No problem. Having vampire guy stuff a restraint mask on my face and strap it to my head was suspicious...but being told that the doll-like zombie was the Nen Specialist who would be performing the procedure?

Hell no! I was as good as dead!

My attempts to squirm were useless and in fact, I could hardly move. Forehead, shoulders, upper forearm, lower forearm, individual fingers, hips, thighs, lower legs—they were all held down by Nen-reinforced chains and leather straps. I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon but that didn't stop me from trying.

Damnit, why had I been such an idiot? I'd waltzed straight into a trap!

Mr. Badass rolled his blood-red eyes at my efforts before turning his attention to his creepy doll-like companion. "Yasu, when I break her _Ten_, you begin. We'll stop when her heart rate is thirty-seven or one hundred and forty beats per minute, or when her _Ten_ is extremely weak. Stop when I stop. Understood?"

Lifting her tan-colored hands, Yasu positioned her hands side-by-side at least an inch from my face. "Yes, Red." I could feel her empty amber eyes on me.

"G'noooo!" I protested through the restraint mask. Because some of it extended into my mouth to keep my tongue away from my teeth, it was screwing with my speech. My 'no' sounded like 'g'no' or 'g'n-eew'. Mustering up my indignity and anger, my Nen oozed with blood-lust. Hopefully, even with their Nen protecting them, they were suffocating from the pressure. Straining against the leather straps and chains, I let out another angry scream-roar. "G'nooooo!"

Her amber eyes widening briefly with a hint of fear, Yasu quickly moved her hands away from my face and fell back a step—the fastest I'd seen her move and the most emotion I'd seen from her. Mr. Badass the Vampire Impressionist, on the other hand, seemed turned on by my violent aura. He had that lecherous sharkish grin again and his angry-feeling Nen conveyed his unspoken desire to push my envelope and strangle me, not unlike the dark undertones of Hisoka's aura.

Gruffly grabbing a part of my upper forearm that wasn't strapped down, the sadistic white-and-black-haired bastard widened his crimson eyes slightly right before his Nen attacked mine, pressing down on my entire body. Clenching my jaw, I fought to maintain my _Ten_. My lower eyelid twitched from the effort it took. In my mind's eye, Red transformed into a bald, smirking Yang as a memory came to me.

_"Prepare yourself," he warned me flatly, and then something I later learned was his Nen enveloped me. My eyes widened as I physically flinched from an uncomfortable, cold…pressure in the air. An inkling of fear and nervousness had me eyeing Yang cautiously. Why did I feel so afraid? Somehow he was manipulating me…and yet he hadn't even moved or touched me! How frightening!_

_Yang took a step closer and the pressure directed at me increased. I began to take a step back. "Stop or I'll attack," my bald Nen Master said before I could put my foot down. I stiffened, sensing that he wouldn't hesitate to follow up on his word, but my teeth were chattering and goose bumps had risen on my entire body. My instincts urged me to flee. There was just something intimidating about his slow, casual approach…but I couldn't put a name to it. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt before, and I never wanted to feel it again if I could help it._

_The urge to turn and run got worse when he took another step forward, his unblinking black eyes trained on me. I was literally beginning to shake in my tennis shoes. What was this terrible pressure coming from him? How was he manipulating me like this without physical contact or words? Yang was just walking toward me! And yet I wished I was anywhere else but standing here._

_"Nen represents the strength of the user's will," Yang began lecturing offhandedly, "and like will, I can force my Nen upon you. In fact, that's what I'm doing right now. You can sense that my will is to kill you, can you not?" When he spoke the word 'kill', his black eyes dilated and a vein popped out on his head. Something akin to an invisible wall slammed into me and I panicked._

_Self-preservation overriding sensibility, I turned and ran the fastest I'd ever run in my short existence._

_I didn't get very far._

_Somehow my legs were swept out from under me, and I fell forward with a startled yelp, landing on the grass on my hands and forearms. Stinging pain traveled through my arms. As soon as my body hit the ground, a foot stepped on my lower back above my pelvis, pinning me to the ground. Yang's boot heel ground unforgivingly into my lower back._

_"Shut up," he said irritably, ignoring my cries, "I told you I would attack you if you moved." He had stopped exuding the frightening aura but he seemed annoyed. Maybe it was his tone of voice but it was like I could feel his anger, like it was almost tangible like…like water or oil._

_"Liar!" I retorted, trying to squirm out from under his foot, "You said 'stop or I'll attack'!" Apparently it was the wrong way to reply because Yang dug his heel harder into my lower back, sending sharp pains dancing up and down my spine, shooting electrical tingles through my limbs. I howled again._

_Yang growled. "Assassins shouldn't scream. It lets torturers know they've found a weakness they can use against you. It may take some time but we'll teach you how to be strong. Now stop your pathetic whining and listen to my teachings."_

_Pushing my upper body away from the grass, I glowered at the bald asshole over my shoulder. "Take your foot off my back and we have a deal." My lower back felt like it would snap off from the upper half of my body._

_With a scowl, Yang lifted his foot from my back and crossed his arms. "Because you're inexperienced, I'll warn you now that my brother and I don't make deals and we don't respond well to that type of disrespectful tone. Next time, refer to me as Master."_

_I tried not to sound terribly sassy, but I was pissed off that my lower back was aching like a bitch. "So if you and your brother are standing together and I have a question, should I just say Master to get both of your attention? Or should I specify and say 'Master Yin' or 'Master Yang'? Or should I stick with Master and see who responds fir—OW!"_

_Lifting his boot from my back, Yang continued on as if I'd never opened my big, fat mouth. "To ward off an opponent's psychic or Nen attack, you must strengthen your Ten and so for the next few weeks, Yin and I will expose you to our blood-lust or our desire to kill you. Nen can be a fearsome weapon as well as formidable armor."_

_Something important occurred to me. "What happens if my Ten, um, breaks or screws up?" I asked curiously, and quickly added, "Master" when Yang's foot ominously rose from the ground._

_"You would die," Yang replied calmly._

_My eyes got a little big. "Oh…" Note to self: maintain Ten at all times._

_"Aura alone can shatter glass and bend metals," my bald Nen Master continued to explain, looking a bit amused by my growing trepidation. "Someone who doesn't have Ten to protect themselves from a Nen assault would find themselves frozen in their tracks or knocked on their asses from outbursts like the one you experienced. If you direct enough ill-will toward a Nen-ignorant person, your Nen will tear their body into shreds."_

A cold sweat broke out on my skin as vampire-bastard and I fought our battle of wills. Our Nen was fluxuating pretty crazily as we simultaneously attacked and defended. Physically, it felt like I was swimming in a pool and the water temperature was switching between random hot and cold spots. The sharkish smirk on Red's face gradually transformed to bared, gritted teeth and frustrated growling.

We both knew who was slowly winning.

With my own growl, I switched from _Ten_ to the stronger version of _Ren—Ken—_and my aura exploded exponentially, doubling in size and strength. The high-powered, hate-filled Nen responded to my wishes and began extending away from my body as if it had its own will and began creeping up vampire-bastard's arm, the one that was gripping my forearm. Because my Nen was at two hundred percent and his was at one hundred percent, my _Ken_ overwhelmed the _Ten_ on his hand, wrist, and lower forearm. The skin where my Nen touched immediately turned a dark reddish-pink before blisters formed.

Vampire-bastard let out a startled, pained howl as he released my arm and yanked his own away from and out of range of my scorching _Ken_. With a sense of twisted satisfaction, I noted that Red's hand was covered in second degree burns while his arm suffered first degree burns as I switched back to _Ten_ to conserve my strength. Maintaining _Ken_ was even more tiring than _Ren, _mostly because it protected the entire body evenly, unlike _Ren_, and I didn't want to lose this fight because I wasted energy maintaining an advanced but draining technique.

From behind the restraint mask, I smirked. Mr. Badass wasn't so badass anymore; he was a dumbass for not reacting sooner.

Red didn't react so well to getting one-upped by a 'little girl', especially when he saw the smugness in my narrowed green eyes. He snarled and back-handed my left ear. If my forehead hadn't been strapped down to the metal table, my head definitely would have snapped hard in the opposite direction and my neck might've suffered some whiplash.

As it was, a hideous high-pitched ringing filled the inside of my head, and my vision doubled, then blurred as pain danced merrily along my cranial nerves. Nausea swept in. My hearing in my left ear dulled as the ringing continued and I could feel a warm, thick liquid oozing out of my ear canal.

_Blood._

As my brain reeled from the sensory overload, I was partially aware of the subtle sensation of feeling submersed in warm liquid. The hospital gown suddenly felt weightless and I felt like I was floating in a warm swimming pool, but the leaden weight of my ringing head was dragging me down to the deep end.

From far away, an aggravated male voice growled, "Now, Yasu!" My _Ten_ must have been broken.

As the throbbing in my head began to dull, suddenly it felt like someone had cranked up the heat from warm to scorching. The shock was comparable to jumping into a steaming Jacuzzi after swimming in a lukewarm pool, but a hundred, no, a _thousand_ times more excruciating. I thrashed against the leather restraints, struggling in vain to escape the searing heat that was boiling me alive. Immediately, my muscles responded by cramping and spasming before I lost voluntary control. I realized the obnoxious, consistent shrill wailing in the background was _me_ screaming.

Then, all at once, the temperature changed again. It took a nosedive.

Scorching hot switched to fucking freezing cold in the bat of an eyelash. My screams cut off just as quickly as my throat closed. The abruptness of the temperature change had me gagging with nausea, disoriented, and sent painful electric-sharp prickly tingles across my skin as if the nerves were waking up.

"Shut up. I told you I would attack you if you moved," growled a familiar male voice.

Yang? What was he doing here? Last I knew, the Twins had been on the Asian Continent. How could Yang have possibly known where I was and where was his twin, Yin?

No, it wasn't possible that they were here. I hadn't seen either of them in years—two to be exact—and there was no way they could have known my current location. I'd been transported in a coffin that could manipulate its size. And there was no way either of them would rescue me. They would simply sit back and wait for me to figure out how to muddle through my problems on my own.

But…why did that voice sound so much like Yang's?

_I automatically clutched the back of my head where Yin's palm had smacked it; my scalp tingled with pain. I tried to stop my eyes from watering as I stood from the bushes, my shoulders hanging with shame. This was so embarrassing and so-so…frustrating!_

_"Idiot. I found you again," the other twin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Merciful nature, this isn't fun at all."_

_"Speak for yourself," I muttered under my breath, rubbing the back of my head. This had to be the umpteenth time that Yin had found me. After surprising the Twins with how quickly I 'strengthened' my '_Ten_'—some kind of invisible 'aura armor' from what I understood—the bald bastards had said it was time to learn to do the exact opposite—to 'hide my aura'. Yin and Yang called this technique _Zetsu_. _

Another wave of breath-takingly icy prickles overwhelmed me, and my head spun around and around like a merry-go-round. My stomach heaved and I coughed, gagging on the lack of half-digested acidic foods, choking on the air. All at once I was aware of my scalp tingling, my skeleton blazing with unnatural heat, my chest aching to be itched, my muscles spasming, and my skin prickling as if multiple invisible icy needles were being lightly but rapidly jabbed into every possible piece of flesh on my body.

Time seemed to stretch infinitely and swiftly fly by at the same time.

_"What have we told you about proper respect?" Yin inquired with a snobbish, lofty tone as he lowered his hand to his side. "And referring to us as Master?" His black eyes were trained on me, expecting a 'respectful' response._

_A few tears ran down my cheeks as I tried blinking them away, but I ignored the urge to cry. These cold-hearted assholes didn't and wouldn't care. "Yang said you two don't respond well to insolence or disrespect, whether it's conveyed through actions or voice," I sullenly quoted, covering the sore spots on my head. "How is this supposed to help me with the next Hunter Exam, Master Yin? I'm rolling in mud, hiding in ditches, and climbing into trees. How's hiding like a ninny going to help me beat the Hunter Exam?" My voice had grown increasingly louder with frustration to the point where I was almost yelling._

_Naturally, it surprised me when Yin didn't smack me upside the head a third time. Instead, the bald old man seemed bored. "Are you quite finished?" he sighed and, ignoring my sullen glare, he answered my question. "Most Hunter applicants are weaklings. They have no idea what Nen is or how to use it, so you have that advantage, but others—mainly males, since many women like playing it safe—have an edge on you. There are professionals—wrestlers, hunters of beasts and men, lunatics, and other scum that are attracted to the power and privilege of being a Hunter."_

_He rotated his head to pierce me with a stare. "As you are now, you don't stand a chance." For some reason, Yin did something very out of character—he began to cackle…Very soft but sadistic chuckles reached my ears. Not Yin's chuckles but…_

Hisoka the Mad Magician.

I knew _he_ could not be here and yet my ear could practically _feel_ his breath as vividly as I could hear his eerie chortles, or rather, as vividly as I could imagine his quiet laughter. He wasn't here. He wasn't supposed to be. No, he couldn't be…

Right?

As I reassured myself that the red-haired devil was not there, his chuckling grew louder, or rather closer because next thing I knew, something wet and cool was running along the outer edge of my ear. In addition to pain, an irrational panic suddenly seized me and a strangled cry escaped my lips. Then I realized the wetness was the blood from the ear that vampire-bastard had slapped. Or I thought it was until Hisoka leaned back, the blood from my ear on the tip of his tongue. He smeared the crimson blood on his bottom lip as he licked his lip, smirking down at my horrified expression.

_Impossible! I was in a cement torture chamber located Kami-knows-were! Hisoka couldn't know I was here! I had been transported in a coffin that could change its size so—_

The devil put a finger over my lips, freezing my thoughts. "Nothing is impossible for a magician, princess," Hisoka whispered with a confident, sly smirk. "You and I are bound together by a little, invisible red string called destiny, and your destiny is" –his index finger ran down my chin and under my jaw and paused on my throat—"to die." Hisoka's bright blue eyes widened, his pupils narrowing to black slits.

His hand closed around my throat, clenching, his long nails digging into my skin, and I gagged, my eyes bugging out in panic. I wanted to grab his arm with my own hands, break his wrist, snap his radius and ulna, but-but my arms weren't working! They were so heavy almost like someone had replaced the muscle and bones with sand. Hisoka's smirk grew as he watched me realize that I couldn't stop him and he began laughing…laughing…

_I felt my strength, like a warm liquid, slowly draining from my arteries and veins, leaving me weaker and weaker. Short, harsh gasps not helping. Heightened senses. Pain, pain, pain. As my green eyes rolled upward, before they disappeared under my eyelids, Hisoka's grinning face transformed into Tomoyo's smirking face, the blonde clothes designer looking down upon me with cruel satisfaction._

_As she squeezed my throat, she gave me a genuine smile and giggled, "See, Miko-chan, I'm helping you! This is what you wanted. You were so enthusiastic. See? It's not very painful. Well…maybe some growing pains, but that's all! You've live!" Her sweet smile changed to a sinister smirk. "Barely."_

_She began to laugh, a high-pitched, cute but annoying laughter that had me wanting to scratch out her eyes and hang her by her pinkie toes, but I was too weak. Too weak to raise a claw against her. Too weak to bite a piece of her pretty face off. Too weak to…too weak to…_

"Red, look."

"Oh shit! Where the fuck did all that blood come from?"

_…strike back, to KILL…her…_


	11. Omake: Miko's Debut

**AN**: Sorry for the long wait. This semester was a real pain so I didn't have time to update; however, with my last final in sight, I should be able to update sooner than a month. Just allow me to rewatch the anime, read the manga, and get back into the mood of this story. Thank you to all who encouraged me to keep going!

* * *

_Omake: Miko's Debut_

**Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy X Oops… X New Nickname**

"_Everyone starts off as a rookie. Don't worry. You'll gather experience. From now on, you'll experience the terror of what it's like to be a professional Hunter. You'll be drenched with blood even if you don't want to." ~Scuwala, a bodyguard for Nostrad_

My forced regulating breathing did nothing to calm my fluttering heart or the nervous excitement that knotted my stomach. Although I tried to portray myself as calm and relaxed, it was probably fairly obvious how edgy I felt through my stiff standing posture. To a seasoned assassin and Blacklist Hunter like the olive-skinned, ebony-haired man standing before me, my emotions might as well have been advertised on my sleeve in neon lights.

After all of the other rejections, perhaps this would be the group to accept me…

"Miko," my potential boss, Tsukasa, mused as he eyed me with boredom as he sized me up, "I'm afraid my Hunter coalition doesn't include children." He leaned against the alley wall, crossing his arms. He wore a partially unbuttoned navy shirt and black slacks.

Anticipation quickly blackened to frustration and anger. No other experienced Hunter or assassin would apprentice me or show me the ropes of how the business worked. Not because I wasn't capable—I quickly disproved that misconception—but because I looked like a damn wide-eyed, innocent twelve-year-old girl. It probably didn't help that I was a newbie…but no one wanted to be stuck 'babysitting' me, although I explained that I was nineteen. No one would believe me, or believe _in_ me.

My lower eyelid twitched—a recently developed sign of my irritation. Raising my auburn eyebrows, I casually replied, "It surprises me that you were allowed to become a member, sir."

Tsukasa's lips quirked into a wry smile. "You're pretty confident for an amateur." He casually ran a hand through his curly black hair. His appeal didn't escape my notice—olive complexion, black ringlets, hazel-grey eyes—but he just didn't pique my interest. Good thing too. "A brat like you couldn't have known where to find this place without directions so…who sent you?"

"Yin and Yang."

His black eyebrows inched up skeptically. "The Demonic Duo sent _you_."

"Yes." I had learned that this reaction was to be expected, because apparently, my sadistic Nen Masters were infamous. Also, I couldn't help but add, "The Terrible Twins trained me too."

To his credit, Mr. Tsukasa's jaw didn't flap in the wind like an idiot nor did he stare at me as if I had told him that I was really nineteen-years-old. Which I was. Instead, the black-haired Blacklist Hunter's dubious expression slowly morphed into one of lazy amusement—in other words, male arrogance. "In that case, I feel I must apologize to you, Miss Miko, for so grossly underestimating you and your abilities. This test-run assignment should be effortless for you."

At that point, I should have listened to my gut and been more suspicious of his careful word choice, but at the time, I foolishly let my anticipation and smugness get the better of me. That is why I crossed my arms with a cocky smirk and said, "Bring it."

With those two words, I willingly, moronically stepped into a proverbial trap with little idea what I'd just gotten myself into.

His hazel-grey eyes seemed to glint briefly in the shady alley lighting. "In two months on the eighth, a famous Broadway ballet company is coming to town—_La Faeie_—and they will be performing _The Nutcracker _ballet. Your target—Baron Louis Reid III—will be attending a performance on the tenth of the following month. I suggest you audition for a role because with the number of celebrities and businessmen will make it damn near impossible to sneak it, especially with Reuben Van Golovachev performing."

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"_We don't ask who, when, where, or by what kind of method—all we do is finish our mission.  
__It doesn't matter what happens, just follow this rule."  
__~Veze, a Manipulation-user who controls men with her 'Instant Love' kiss_

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Auditions were a cinch, thanks to my inherent genius and the personal ballet instructor I hired. She never thought _La Faeie_ would hire a just-graduated-from-condensed-crash-course-lessons ballerina, but she tried her best nonetheless because she wanted to pride herself on teaching someone who was accepted by the famous _La Faeie_, in the event that I succeeded. She must have been beside herself with joy when I was accepted as a minor ballerina for the _Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy _and _Waltz of the Snowflakes_.

The dates between the auditions and the actual performances were nothing short of heaven, hell, and blisters galore.

My heart soared as I performed pirouettes on my tiptoes. My feet, ankles, and legs ached after practice. However, I always smiled and put all my effort into practice, blisters and aches be damned, because I loved dancing. As a child, I'd always fantasized that I was a professional dancer and now my dreams were literally dancing before me—a potentially permanent spot in a famous ballet troupe! It wasn't a surprise that during those few months, I seriously considered setting aside assassination and taking up dancing—a career path that had always appealed to me—but I couldn't help but wonder…

Could I kill Baron Louis Reid III?

He was a distant relation to aristocracy in some country I didn't care to remember, a wealthy middle-aged gentleman who'd been accumulating too much wealth, and the object of envy and greed for his inheritance by a few disgruntled younger relatives. He was no threat to me, but…he would be the first human being I would murder.

At first, taking the life of any animal that wasn't a bug had horrified and nauseated me. The Twins had actually been sympathetic toward me when I murdered my first few creatures; they expressed that, although killing another being willingly and without any malice toward them is unnatural, it was either you or the other being, animal or human. And you had to choose yourself. After that, I'd been dumped in wild, human-unfriendly environments, such as the Numele Swamp, miles away from civilization and told to head for a small town or village in a certain direction.

I grew numb to killing beasts and demons, even began to enjoy it a little and made games of it. But extinguishing the life of a human being—one of my own kind—was different from stealing the life of an animal. Even killing those damn human-faced monkeys had given me nightmares months after I'd slit their throats...How would I fare after my first human?

To distract my mind from considering deviating from assassination and questioning the ethics of my career path, I focused on constructing a plan to kill Baron Lou—the target. Focused on my plan to eliminate the target.

_Waltz of the Snowflakes_ was at the tail end of Act I, and _Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy_ was toward the end of Act II. I would use the first dance to visually scope out and confirm the seat or box number where the target would be located; and after the second dance, I would hide away behind the stage curtain or wherever I chose to stow my weapon of choice, and shoot the Baron, erm, target. Perhaps this time, I would use a blow dart, a poisoned needle, and shoot the target through the pupil of his eye…

He would never see it coming.

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_"We must not expect happiness, Sayuri. It is not something we deserve.  
When life goes well, it is a sudden gift; it cannot last forever…" ~Chairman from Memoirs of a Geisha (movie)_

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Mr. Tsukasa was right.

Security had been beefed up, due to the attendance of celebrities, businessmen, and gangsters as well as for the internationally famous, young male ballet performer, Reuben Van Golovachev. Many in the field of ballet praised Van Golovachev as a genius; from what I learned of the performer, the guy was human but had some percentage of demon in his blood. It certainly showed in his royal-purple slanted eyes, the slightly pointer tips of his ears and canines, and in his tall, lithe body.

Kami, he was probably the most handsome, borderline beautiful, man I'd ever seen…

Erm, _anyway_…not that I cared about Reuben Van Golovachev, but any women born with a pair of fully functional eyes and a dosage of hormones could detect his natural male allure. There was just something feral about him, something dangerous but tempting…

Anyone who said otherwise was an idiot.

I mean, I have a _prepubescent _body, and _I_ find the guy is gorgeous! I couldn't imagine how attractive Van Golovachev was to fully grown women…

Ahem, going back on topic.

During _Waltz of the Snowflakes_, a few furtive glances toward the third row near the center confirmed that my target—Baron Louis Reid III—was in attendance; his physical appearance matched the photograph I had acquired. A male plain Jane. His gray eyes were rapt on the stage, which would make my job just that much easier. Shooting a needle through a person's pupil was difficult enough as it was; even when the head was still, the eyes could move anywhere very rapidly.

After _Waltz of the Snowflakes_, other women involved in upcoming dances rushed into a dressing room to strip and change into their next beautiful outfit. With plenty of time on my hands until the end of Act II, I leisurely made my way into the dressing room, which was a flurry of layered, glittery blue tutus, hair ornaments, garters, silver ballet shoes, and people rushing around. In the chaos, it was easy to grab my equipment—two small perfume bottles and two thin dull needles, items no one would miss.

Unfortunately, with security so tight, there was no conceivable way that I could bring or create a hollow blow dart tube before it was discovered or I was taken down. Fortunately, my plan only required a little adjusting.

Uncorking the one blue perfume bottle, I brought the bottle to my lips and downed the liquid inside, grimacing at the bitter taste. An antidote for the poison that would later be in my mouth, an antidote for the poison I would have to swallow so authorities couldn't find traces of it in a trashcan, on the floor, or in a sink so they couldn't get any DNA from my saliva. It would take some time for the antidote to get through my system.

Capping the empty, small blue bottle, I headed into the dressing room. After changing into a warm pink, short-sleeved leotard, a knee-length layered pink skirt, and tying on the matching ballet shoes, I concealed the empty bottle in my right blue ballet shoe while the needles and unopened purple bottle hid in my left. When the make-up artists finished with my hair and cosmetics, I fetched the purple bottle and needles; I would have two, one as back-up just in case I missed.

As the _Waltz of Flowers_ came to a close, my heart began to pound in my chest and nervous anticipation knotted my stomach. Kami, assassinating my first human being in front of so many witnesses! For the first time, as I stood beside the heavy crimson curtain, I realized the sheer audacity of my first assassination attempt and the dangerous trap that Mr. Tsukasa had laid.

If I screwed up, security would nail me and I was as good as dead.

If I succeeded, security _might_ nail me and escaping would be tricky as hell.

Muttering 'idiot' to myself under my breath, wishing I had kept a cooler head, I face-palmed. Confident amateur, indeed. More like flaming imbecile, almost putting my foot into a death trap.

If matters went well, I could simply act casually and walk out to freedom; if things went south…I guess I'd 'switch' on security's collective asses. While I am still a little hesitant and squeamish about murdering, my cold-blooded alternate personality has no qualms about holding back at all. At this point, only time would tell what measures I would have to resort to.

As the first part of the double _Pas de Deux_ began, my beautified companions rushed out on stage with silver glitter in their hands. Heart pounding, I bounded out there with them. Time accelerated in a confusing array of leaping, jumping, and tiptoeing as glitter was thrown into the air, creating a mini blizzard of sparkly silver speckles. The Sugar-Plum Fairy—a beautiful woman rumored to be part faerie—and her human Cavalier danced amongst, around, and in the middle of our delicate dancing.

The royal pair as well as my group of ballerinas exited the stage as a second group of ballerinas twirled on stage, dancing as the Nutcracker Prince—Reuben Von Golovachev-and the human girl Clara waltzed into the center of the fairy ring, seemingly oblivious to everyone else. They did an incredible job of pretending they were in love. The second group of ballerinas and the other royal pair exited the stage. The Sugar-Plum Fairy's Cavalier and the Nutcracker Prince danced alone on stage, and then as they exited on opposite sides, the Sugar-Plum Fairy and Clara swooped in from opposite ends.

Nearly time for my group to enter the stage. Then, I would have a three minute window where I would be near the front and could shoot the needle from my mouth into the target's eye. After that three minutes, the second group of ballerinas would soar onto the stage and the risk of hitting someone else would be too high for me to make an attempt.

As royal women danced, I glanced around coolly as I reached into my chignon bun, pulling out the purple bottle. Quickly dumping the poison in my mouth, capping the small purple bottle, I stashed it back in my hair bun as I swished the poison around in my mouth to coat my tongue, which would act as the blow dart tube. Oddly enough, the poison tasted sweet and fluid like maple syrup—much more pleasant to the taste buds than the antidote. Reaching into my hair bun again, I pulled out the two needles and snuck them into my mouth, hiding them between my upper lip and the gums of my top teeth on the sides of my mouth.

My heart pounded as my group trailed after the Reuben Von Golovachev, the Nutcracker Prince, as he and Clara reunited on stage; the Sugar-Plum Fairy twirled offstage, setting off my internal three minute countdown. I gracefully took my position at near the front of the stage, my mouth closed in a forced smile. I had to hurry. The poison in my mouth was setting off my taste buds, and soon the poison might be diluted by my drool.

Lowering one needle from its hiding spot and onto my tongue, my tongue rolled into a u-shape. The music faded into the background as my green eyes locked onto Baron Louis Reid III. Poking my curled tongue slightly past my lips, using a little _Shū_ to give the needle more strength, I inhaled through my nose and waited for a ballerina to twirl out of my line of fire.

The moment her legs were out of the way, I sharply exhaled through my mouth, forcing the air through my u-shaped tongue.

The needle flew out of my mouth…and into the thigh of some idiot who leapt in the way!

My green eyes darted up in astonishment to see the identity of the poisoned idiot. Said idiot turned out to be none other than—I almost swallowed the second needle from the nasty surprise—Reuben Von Golovachev.

_Shit_.

As my eyes widened in horror, the Nutcracker Prince jumped a little and yelped, probably startled by the unexpected pain in his thigh. The audience laughed. They had no idea what was going on, so they laughed. Like the incredible male ballet performer he was, Reuben Von Golovachev continued his performance as if his yelp had been planned. I, on the other hand, was not so calm.

I _missed_! And my time window was closing! I had less than a minute to kill my original target and he wasn't even looking at the stage anymore! He was whispering to a man beside him! Not only that, but I hit the internally famous and handsome Reuben Von Golovachev in the thigh! I had no spare antidote bottles, and even if I did, it would be suspicious if I gave it to him; there was no way he would accept an open drink from some girl he didn't know. His security would never allow it.

I can't believe that the first guy I'm going to end up killing is an internationally famous, incredibly handsome male ballet performer! I mean, that's such a waste of genius and beauty! F my life!

And I have less than forty-six seconds to make a second attempt on Baron Louis Reid III before the Sugar-Plum Fairy, her Cavalier, and the second ballet group joined us onstage for the ending of the finale! And that chubby, gray-haired fool still isn't looking at the stage!

As I slowly raised an arm up, bending the wrist delicately, I silently prayed that no one would notice that my forced smile probably looked more like a grimace or that my jaw was clenched. The second needle was already loaded in my now u-shape-curled tongue for take two. Already, the needle was empowered by my _Shū_ to ensure that even if the needle hit his skull, it would slide through the bone with relative ease. If the needle didn't give the target a brain hemorrhage, the poison would kill him.

_Come on, Baron…Look at the stage…_

Twenty-one seconds…

_Look at me…_

Seventeen seconds…

My green eyes stayed trained on the target, and I hoped the intensity of my stare would attract his attention. Most human beings seemed to have this sixth sense when someone was staring at them. Then, it was normal for the person being stared at to turn their head and visually search out the person who was staring at them. My curled tongue was pressed against the back of my teeth, ready for action.

Eleven seconds…

Baron Louis Reid III seemed to sense my gaze, and instinctually, his head turned and his eyes sought me out. My lips opened a little and my curled tongue partially poked out, poisonous needle ready. I inhaled. The target's gray eyes met with my green ones.

I sharply exhaled through my mouth, forcing the air through my u-shaped tongue.

The needle flew out of my mouth at an incredible speed and through the eye of the soon-to-be late Baron Louis Reid III.

My tongue retreated into my mouth as the target suddenly let out a loud howl, frightening the audience and startling the ballet performers. The target had his hands over his face, his muffled screams escaping through his cracked fingers. Everyone on stage slowed to an uncertain pause. No one knew what to do. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who noticed the odd juxtaposition between the Baron's anguished death cries and the beautiful, soft ballet music.

As the music abruptly ended, there was a universal horrified pause as everyone within the large auditorium watched the Baron clutch at his face.

Then someone screamed, "Assassin!"

The sudden, sharp noise and the dreaded word broke the reverie and panic ensued as glamorous celebrities, well-to-do businessmen, and shifty gangsters stampeded toward the exits; security tried to bar the exits but the cat was out of the bag. No one wanted to stay in an auditorium where there was an assassin on the loose.

"Reuben!" a woman nearby me cried, and like those who had heard, I whirled around to see that the male ballet performer had fallen down on the stage. His beautiful body was convulsing with seizures—a precursor to death. His purple eyes were fluttering wildly, half-rolling behind his slanted eyelids. His mouth opened and closed and strangled noises emerged when his mouth opened.

The woman rumored to be part faerie—the Sugar-Plum Fairy—was crouched down beside Reuben and had the performer lying on her lap, cradling his head. The beautiful blonde woman moaned his name repeatedly, her head hanging down. Tears dropped on Reuben's pale, sweating forehead.

I forced myself to look away. It was my fault that he was dying…b-but it was his fault for leaping in my way at the wrong time! Anyway, I couldn't feel guilty and linger here any longer. Security was beginning to get serious, and they were barring exits although the mob of wealthy people was frantically trying to escape.

As some _La Faeie _ballerinas headed backstage, I fell in pace with them as they raced for the exit. However, the exits had already been blocked and were guarded by several burly men with guns. It would have been easy to take the Nen-less, gun-wielding assholes out on my own, but there were too many witnesses. As a young up-and-coming assassin, I didn't need the world to know my face. I needed to get rid of the bottles, and quickly. But they had my fingerprints on them…

Ah! My special fingerprint cleaning kit was in the dressing room in my bag!

Because everyone else was running around like headless chickens, it didn't seem unusual for me to race to the dressing room and grab my bag. In the chaotic rush, no one noticed me hurriedly but methodically wipe down a small perfume bottle, the purple one. No one noticed me quietly knock out a stagehand, one I knew had a criminal record, and slip the empty purple poison bottle on his person. And when the famous figures began to use props against security to force them away from the exits, no one noticed a short, black-clad girl rushing out in the crowd of celebrities as they ran into the streets.

No one noticed me push one ballet shoe off the black top, and literally vanish into a blur the next second.

Mission success—target eliminated.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

_"My little baby, off to destroy people." __~Mushu from Mulan_

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"Well, well, look who managed to come crawling back alive," Tsukasa mused as I opened the door to his office. The git sounded mildly surprised and impressed. "Pink and glitter look good on you, little Sugar Plum fairy." Normally, I would have flipped him off or hurled something at an unnatural speed at the asshole, but I was too surprised to do either. But that was because my Nen Masters were here.

In Tsukasa's office. At this moment.

In person.

As in, in the _flesh_.

Yin smirked as I removed the oversized black shirt that I had used to conceal my ballet outfit. "Don't you look cute," he leered as I tossed the shirt aside. My glittery pink outfit sharply contrasted the dark, dim setting.

"But cute doesn't cut it when it comes to killing," Yang sneered, picking up where his twin had left off. "Did you successfully eliminate the target? Were you tailed?"

Sullenly, I glowered at the three men. "Yes to the first, no to the second," I replied briskly.

After all, what else could I do or say? These three assholes were my superiors in status and in power. Two were my trainers, the other was my potential boss, and each one of them could individually kick my ass.

Right now, my only option was to play nice.

I needed to get into this Blacklist Hunter coalition. This coalition had the money, power and connections I needed to land jobs to earn a living. Not many people or companies would hire an assassin fresh out of training. New assassins were untested, overconfident wild cards that could not be trusted.

"What about leads?" Yin inquired, firing the question immediately after I mumbled my answer. "Did you leave anything that someone could trace it back to you?"

Their confidence in me was overwhelming.

"I may have," I admitted airily. "There's always a possibility that you may be seen or forget something." Avoiding their heavy gaze, I reached behind my head and fiddled with the chignon, pulling out the empty blue antidote bottle before I tried to untangle my hair from the fancy, twisted bun.

Avoiding their piercing eyes, I casually tossed the empty antidote bottle into a nearby trash can. I didn't have to say anything. They knew me. Even if I tried to lie, they would calmly listen and then punish me for trying to slip a falsehood past them. In situations where I preferred not to verbally admit something, Yin and Yang knew the answer from my body language and/or my actions.

"You screwed up," the twins said flatly in sync.

Rolling his eyes, Tsukasa grabbed a remote control and switched on a flat screen TV. Our eyes focused on the television as the video of running and screaming wealthy people appeared, including the voice-over of the newscaster.

"—assassin may still be in the building," the blonde woman announced. "Police are rounding up the celebrities that managed to slip past security, however, that may not be necessary. Bodyguard Arnöld Renein may have discovered the unconscious body of a stagehand named Joseph Bonquete, the suspected murderer of Baron Louis Reid III and Reuben Von Golovachev. Bonquete was found, unconscious, under a pile of stage props with—get this—a _small, empty_ _women's perfume bottle_!

"Authorities have confiscated the perfume bottle and are testing it for deadly chemicals, and have taken Bonquete into custody. Bonquete has a history of felonies—two attempted murders on politicians in office, and probation violation. He is a convicted felon who escaped prison a few months ago and has evaded police until now," continued the blonde newscaster in a flat, grim tone. "Investigators suspect that Bonquete accidentally killed the Baron and Golovachev in his third attempt to murder politician Ryan Kwalski before attempting to flee the scene. They suspect Bonquete was accidentally pushed into the stage props by the panicked ballet performers and the props knocked him unconscious. We'll keep you updated on this breaking news. Another breaking story-"

Tsukasa clicked mute, and the three men turned their heads toward me.

Before they could speak, I answered the questions I assumed would be on the tips of their tongues. "No, I didn't leave any fingerprints. No, the stagehand won't be able to tell anyone what really happened because I rubbed some residual poison left in the bottle in his mouth, so he should be dead before he can be questioned. Also, no, _The Nutcracker_ was not allowed to be filmed."

"The police may trace the aim of the projectile, granted that they find the needles," Tsukasa mused. "Cops try to trace the origin of the projectile when they investigate shoot-outs."

Yin hummed in agreement, seeing where my potential future boss's reasoning was headed. "If the police figure out when either Golovachev or the target were shot, they can ask the choreographer to retrace the steps and-"

"—and you would be discovered," Yang concluded, finishing his twin's sentence. "Didn't you consider this possibility when you created your plan, brat? My brother and I trained you much better than this. Already getting soft and lowering your guard, I see." He and Yin both sneered at me, their wrinkled faces making their leering that much more terrible.

"Fuck my life," I muttered, a sense of icy fear gripping my heart. My first job, completely botched. The likelihood of my surviving another year just dropped dramatically. Now I'd have the police, private investigators, seasoned assassins, and other dangerous people who were connected to the gangsters, business men and women, and celebrities coming after me. I'd be lucky to survive another month, if that!

A sharp pang of regret shocked in my heart and caused a familiar ache in my chest. _I should never have given up my other life._

Yang folded his arms, eyeing me. "Even if someone within the police or investigation force was intelligent enough to take such measures, it would baffle them that the shots came from an area where a little twelve-year-old girl was dancing."

"After all, who would suspect a cute twelve-year-old girl is the assassin?" Yin continued with a nod. "Those who are ignorant of Nen would immediately discount this possibility, but a Hunter would not."

I felt that I needed to defend myself again. "But with this outfit"—I gestured down at the sparkly pink leotard and skirt—"how could I stash the 'murder weapon'? This leotard is form-fitting, has no sleeves, and I have no cleavage to stash a weapon in. It's impossible to fit anything in these ballet shoes but your feet, and when I twirl, this knee-length layered skirt lifts up into the air and spins, revealing the rest of my leotard and my legs."

"Dumbass." The flat of a palm smacked into the back of my head, causing me to stumble forward, my vision blurry. "Any half-assed Hunter would know that there is more than one way to shoot a needle," Yang snorted contemptuously.

"Not to mention, you said the skirt was layered," Tsukasa threw in. "Just because the skirt would lift up and spin, and the layers could still conceal a small weapon."

It wasn't fair, this three-on-one argument. There was no way I could point out a positive aspect of my job without them poking at seemingly crater-sized flaws. My father had said that it was pointless trying to argue with someone who was convinced he was right, and I could see why.

Yin's eyebrows rose. "Did you even bother making an alias?"

Because it looked like further discussion would lead to more unnecessary criticism, I crossed my arms and stubbornly refused to look at the three frustrating (and correct) males. "Hmph." The back of my head smarted from Yang's blow, but my eyes were my main concern. They were threatening to water and reveal my distress.

_Of course I made an alias, you insensitive assholes_, I wanted to scream at them. _I covered my original hair with a blonde wig and wore blue contacts over my green eyes for the whole two damn months! I even created a new personality, Akane Huinjia._

Unfortunately, I couldn't yell this obvious information at them because all three of these assholes were my superiors. If I lost my temper, my Nen Masters would discipline me severely because they didn't tolerate disrespect. As for Tsukasa…He was my potential future boss. I needed to smile and play nice for him for now to join his Blacklist Hunter association.

Then again, with the way the situation appeared, it didn't look like I would live long enough to join, provided that Tsukasa let me join.

Tsukasa ran a hand through his ebony hair. "In any case, we'll wait for two weeks and see what moves the police, investigators, and the wealthy attempt. Try not to die in the mean time, little _Faeie_."

Future boss or not, I still flipped him off for calling me little. Tsukasa only smirked and chuckled.

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_"He was a man, take him for all in all,_  
_I shall not look upon his like again."_  
_- William Shakespeare, _Hamlet_, 1.2_

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Two weeks crawled by like maple syrup in the winter, and I managed to survive two attempted assassination attempts, one by skill, and the other by sheer dumb luck. On my own, I killed my first would-be murderer. The second assassin, on the other hand, was much less fortunate than the first…

My Nen Masters and I had been training in an apartment room, and I'd been learning how to shift my aura around more and more easily from one part of my body to another. Yin had left the living room area to take a leak, leaving Yang and I in the living room, Yang lecturing me about the importance of aura location and deception a Nen-user could utilize with aura concentration.

Yin's battle cry of "AI-YA!" had startled us both, especially when we heard a 'thud' seconds later. When Yang and I had peered into the apartment bedroom, we saw Yin kneeling down beside a face-down body, grinning maniacally and saying to the unconscious person, "You'll regret coming here, bastard. You're about to become my new best friend."

Yang had paused training to reserve a new apartment room in another part of town.

Both deceased assassins turned out to be bodyguard Hunters who were related to _The Nutcracker_ performance. The three of us surmised that whoever the dead Hunters were guarding had sent the two Hunters to hunt me down; their missions would have been either kill or capture. As for who sent them, it was impossible to tell. The Hunters could have been sent by friends of the Baron I assassinated, or hired by some investigation force, or they could have personally known either the Baron or Golovachev.

Either way, despite my incredible guilt for killing a handsome man like Golovachev, it didn't matter.

Tsukasa personally informed us that someone on the police force had half a brain and traced the aim of the projectile to my area, using the choreographer. While the needle in Reuben von Golovachev's thigh had yet to be discovered, morticians had discovered the poisoned needle lodged in the late Baron Louis Reid III's gray matter. They were bewildered that the needle that buried itself so deeply into the brain, just like the police were baffled that the fatal shots had come from an area where a cute twelve-year-old, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl had been dancing.

"The police deem that it was impossible for you to have killed the Baron or Miss Man," Tsukasa informed us in his office four days later. "They interviewed multiple witnesses who stated that they didn't see you use a weapon, and the police came to the conclusion that you pointed out—that you couldn't stash a murder weapon on your person in your performance outfit. With the mortician's review, it was also deemed physically impossible for a normal twelve-year-old girl without a weapon to shoot a needle through the eye and into the hypothalamus of a grown man."

I hated to say 'I told you so'…

"Told you so," I smirked.

…But I said it anyway.

Yin and Yang both cuffed the back of my head in sync. "Respect your elders, imp," the old men said, their voices blending together.

Tsukasa, ignoring the three of us, continued on as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Congratulations, little Miko," he said, his lips quirked in more of a wry smirk than a pleased smile. "You've successfully managed to complete the qualification assignment, and stay alive through the waiting period. Welcome to our Blacklist Hunter coalition, the Shingetsu."

I couldn't help but return his smile. Finally, after so many rejections, someone was willing to take me in! Granted I'd been given a hellish entry exam of sorts, but I'd made it out alive and now I was reaping my reward—that was what mattered. I had done it!

Yin and Yang both placed a hand atop of my head, and I flinched, stiffening. What now? More criticism for my mistakes? I had already had enough of that.

"Well, not bad for a girl," Yang began.

"But you did good," Yin finished. Both of them ended that sentence by using my non-assassin name, the one I'd gone by before Yin and Yang had granted me the name 'Miko', the name I shall not repeat to protect my own identity and my family.

"Sure, you made a few mistakes, but that is to be expected because nothing goes according to plan in reality," Yang continued, and my muscles loosened, beginning to go slack from shock. "You did well under the circumstances."

"Yes," Yin agreed. "You adapted according to the situation and utilized a believable scapegoat to throw off pursuit and give the situation the illusion of closure. Remember not to let your emotions manipulate you, and to think ahead, little Miko." That said, they both removed their hands from my head as if they had finished bestowing me with some great wisdom.

My feet rooted to the ground, the rest of my body swayed slightly from side to side and forward and backward in a state of shock. I felt as light as a flower floating downstream. Was this a dream or was I dead? In all the years that the Twins had trained me, never had they given me this much praise or affection at once. Never until now.

Now that I'd been accepted into this coalition, my training was over and this would likely be the last time I saw my Masters in this life. I couldn't say that I'd miss them much after the hell they put me through, but to hear them say such agreeable words without an insult or 'but' attached…

The old men must have noticed my dazed expression because they scowled at me. "Don't let it get to your head, brat," Yin and Yang warned, their voices in sync. But they didn't swat the back of my head like they had earlier, doubling my surprise. Instead, Yin and Yang continued to head past me, toward the door, leaving with the parting words, "If you're ever in need of training, visit the Giiraen Mountains and we'll find you."

I was too stunned to say goodbye, even after I heard the door shut.

The astonishment quickly began to wear off, giving way to a surge of pride and a sense of invincibility. My Masters _complimented_ me! Th-They _praised_ me! And they were extremely difficult to please too!

Despite my weak attempts to control my glee, a huge grin had broken out on my face.

Suddenly all the bruises, the broken bones, the nights I cried myself to sleep—they were all worth it. Hearing those words from two people I'd been trying to impress for years outweighed the pain and suffering I'd undergone to reach this point. There was so much happiness and energy building within me that it was a wonder that I didn't spontaneously combust right then and there.

I wanted to leap up on the tallest skyscraper in the world and dance on its antenna!

I wanted to drown the world with tears of joy!

I wanted to twirl in circles until I fell over from dizziness!

I had the energy to race across the ocean's surface from the Yorubian Continent to the Asian Continent!

I had the courage to leave this office and go kick the ass of someone powerful, someone like…like Hisoka! Yeah, I could totally kick his ass right now! Well…maybe not that mental magician, but right now, I would have the courage to walk up to him and say, "I heard you like to play. Want to play a game with me?"

"Before you feel _too_ invincible, Sugar Plum Fairy, you might want to pay attention while I explain your future in this coalition and what could get you kicked out," Tsukasa mentioned, amused by the goofy grin on my face. Seeing my attention focus on him, he began, "Our motto is 'Dareni, Dokoni, Ikura?', or in English, 'Anyone, Anywhere, How much?' because we will kill anyone anywhere for a certain price. The reason the name of the coalition and our motto is Japanese is because—Pretty Pink Pixie Girl, are you paying attention?"

* * *

**Definitions:**

_Shingetsu_: [Jap] New Moon

_Dareni_: [Jap] Anyone

_Dokoni_: [Jap] Anywhere

_Ikura_: [Jap] How much?

**Disclaimer:** Anyone who's watched Mulan recently should have caught the line that I used near the end (Shang says to Mulan: "You did good."), and I thank all the resources I used for the Nutcracker (there are too many to remember), which were a huge help because I've never seen the actual ballet. I also thank my cute Asian friend ;) You know who you are.


	12. In Which Shi Awakens

**AN:** I'm sorry it's taken me forever to update, but within the past three months, I've come very _very_ close to losing this chapter and all of my notes for this story four or five times. My laptop broke twice and crashed once, my desktop computer hasn't been working properly during these three months, and my three-or-so-months-old flash drive corrupted, causing me to lose my school folder and some other things. (I swear, I was cursed). Luckily I was able to recover this chapter and most of my HxH notes. Does anyone know any of any long-lasting flash drives or recommend any brands?

On a positive note, this is the first birthday of this story! Hence why I posted this chapter on Halloween!

* * *

Chapter Title: _In Which Shi Awakens_

**Fear X The Assassin X Bodies**

"_If you're not going to come out, I will come to you." ~Killua Zaoldyeck_

"_Hunters going missing is even more abnormal than [them] dying strange deaths." –Mizaistom, "Ox" of the Jyuunishin_

When she finally stabilized, Red let out a gusty sigh of relief and sank back onto the chair that Yasu had provided before she had left the room to sleep and recover. He eyed the unconscious twenty-one-year-old Blacklist Hunter, absently wiping his sweaty palms on his leather pants.

Gingersnap looked like complete shit.

In 'three years', her muscles had atrophied from disuse and she looked like she'd been plucked from the underbelly of a very poverty-stricken third world country. She had the body of an anorexic or a skeleton with skin stretched over it and a soul trapped inside, Red mused as he eyed the electrocardiograph machine. Her heart rate was staying steady and about fucking time too.

She had lasted two one-hour intervals before Yasu had pointed out a massive amount of blood flowing between her legs—the byproduct of having multiple menstrual cycles at once, Red had discovered. It had taken him a while to discover the cause, having never assisted Yasu with using her Hatsu on a female before. Just as they had detected the blood, Gingersnap's heart rate hit the critical one hundred and forty beats per minute.

It had taken him the better part of two hours to stabilize her to the point where her moronic heart didn't give itself a myocardial infarction.

"Not so cute now that you look like shit, huh?" he sneered, gently touching the ugly second and first degree blisters his hand and forearm where the little bitch's Nen had burned him. If Tomoyo hadn't been willing to fork over as much zeni as she was, Red would have killed Gingersnap for damaging his body like this. And then there was the bite on his shin to deal with.

He stood up and made his way out of the Aging Chamber. His footsteps echoed in the dimly lit cement hallway as he headed toward Yasu's room. He opened the door with his good hand and peered in.

The light was on in the room, illuminating what looked like a child's room—baby-pink painted walls, dolls lying on the floor, some missing articles of clothing, toy unicorns and leopards, Legos, and other toys. Surprised, Red looked at the bed and found Yasu lying on top of the covers, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Get some sleep," he told her firmly. "This took a lot more control than what you're used to."

Red was silently impressed with her control over her Hatsu; usually she used her ability to age people in the Aging Chamber to the point of old age or death within a few hours, mere minutes if she was terrified or her life was threatened. Of course, he had neglected to mention to Tomoyo that Miko would be the first person that Yasu had ever aged at such a slow rate.

Yasu didn't turn her head to look at him—a sign she was upset. "Red, she didn't know about the pain."

She was still bitching about that?

He shrugged. "She does now."

Letting her head roll sideways, she frowned at him with disapproval. Although Red had been taking care of her for three years, it was still difficult for him to belief that Yasu was actually eight-years-old.

The dark-skinned girl's Hatsu had two large prices for the power of accelerated aging—Yasu herself aged three years each time she used her ability for an extended amount of time, and it seemed to eat away at her mind or soul. That was why the eight-year-old girl looked like she was in her late thirties or early forties, and why she seemed like the living dead. Many times Red felt downright fucking guilty that Yasu would probably die before she turned ten. However, if they didn't screw up and kill this cute but mouthy Hunter, Yasu could probably live without having to use her ability for a long time.

Remembering the Hunter, he figured he better check on her vitals again. "Get some sleep," he ordered, "or I'll put you to sleep with my hand. I'll keep an eye on her." They both knew his threat was an empty one.

Privately, Red knew that he didn't really need to monitor Gingersnap.

She wasn't a threat to them anymore. If she woke up now, she would be in excruciating pain and would be too preoccupied with screaming to attack; however, if Gingersnap somehow had the sheer willpower to overcome the onslaught of pain messages from her body, her muscles wouldn't respond to her brain's commands anyway.

He only needed to ensure that her body didn't quit.

"Good night," Yasu said softly.

"Night," he murmured back, flicking off the light and closing her door. After taking care of the blisters on his arm and the bite on his shin, Red returned to the Aging Chamber. The EKG was beeping normally and none of the machines hooked up to the assassin's body were panicking—a promising sign.

He eyed her, taking in her other physical changes.

The low dose of growth hormones in her IV and the injections of red marrow in her bones had done their job. Gingersnap had vertically grown four of five inches taller than she might have on her own. Her face had matured slightly, losing some baby fat and growing more angular, almost pointy. Her nails and toenails had grown so long that they had started to curl under themselves into a spiral. Her orange hair had grown from shoulder-length to just beyond covering her chest where her boobs would be, were she not as flat-chested as a little boy.

Hell, she almost _looked_ like a little boy in the oversized hospital gown. Were it not for her large eyes, pouty lips and other subtly feminine features, he would have sworn she was an effeminate fifteen-year-old boy.

Strangely, Gingersnap hadn't even made a damn sound since she had lost consciousness—and that had been three, almost four, days ago. She still screamed when Yasu began aging her, but afterwards, she was as quiet as a corpse. He couldn't be sure whether she was completely unconscious, or if she faded in and out. Either way, she wasn't dead.

Even still, being so damn quiet…it wasn't natural.

The other victims had moaned from the aftermath for hours, or the pain had been so intense that they had screamed their sleep. Only the handful that Yasu had killed had been this silent.

Red jabbed her shoulder with his finger.

His ears picked up a weak, extremely pained raspy noise, and he identified it as a moan. And, to his annoyance, she _kept_ moaning. Even unconscious, he guessed she could still feel her body's soreness; there was no escaping it.

Scowling, he sank onto the chair and reached into his trench coat for a cigarette and his lighter. "Five or six more days," he told himself as he lit the end. "Five or six more days, she'll be out of your life and you will be so fucking rich that Yasu will never have to do this ever again."

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The second to last day of the procedure came, the eighth day of their contract with Tomoyo, and Gingersnap was still alive. Very weak, but alive. Deciding to halt the procedure a day early, he cleaned up the Hunter's body—her blood, her remaining excrements, her urine, her tears—and had Yasu change her into a new hospital gown. He almost forgot to remove Gingersnap's mask restraint before he took her picture.

He then sent it to Tomoyo with his phone, and chuckled when he didn't get a response after ten minutes. Not surprised when he got her voicemail when he called, Red left her a simple message: "Send a check to the drop off point. We'll wait for it there."

"Red."

He snapped his phone shut and glanced at her. "Yeah, Yasu?"

"Backpack, my room," the physically old child reminded him. She couldn't even form a complete sentence, he noticed. Her verbal skills always dipped after she used her Hatsu, but this was bad.

Pocketing the phone, he grinned sharkishly at her. "She outgrew those little kid clothes and disguises so she won't be needing her backpack, now will she?" He concentrated on the money they could make from pawning off Gingersnap's backpack instead of focusing on his concern for Yasu's mental degeneration. "If only we could pry open that damn suitcase…"

He eyed the square, metal bastard.

It had resisted his every attempt to open it. A crowbar, power tools, explosives, chemicals, his Nen—Gingersnap's suitcase was immune to it all. The only way to open the damn thing was something akin to a card slider…

"Red." Yasu was frowning slightly at him.

"I know you don't like stealing, Yasu, but this is necessary," he said, grasping her shoulders and staring her in the eye. "After we get paid, no more stealing and no more scum bags will come after you for your power. No more torturing and killing for money. With this job, we can go wherever and do whatever the hell we want."

The corners of her lips lifted to a small ghost of a smile. "I like."

Encouraged by her small smile, Red grinned and ruffled her hair—something he hadn't done in a long time. "Then let's go get paid." Using his Nen to create a trunk, he set Gingersnap and her indestructible suitcase at the bottom before escorting Yasu inside to keep an eye on her.

She edged to the opposite side of the trunk. "Scary," Yasu said, wide-eyed.

Red rolled his eyes. "She's unconscious."

Yasu shook her head vigorously. "No Miko. _Shi_. Shi scary."

What the hell?

He blinked at her, confused, and decided to play along. "I guess she is scary…" Occasionally there were times when Yasu didn't make sense, especially after a procedure. Other times she didn't make sense because she went philosophical and nonsensical on him at the same time.

"No she, _Shi_." He still couldn't tell the difference. "Shi _monster_. Shi awake."

Thoroughly confused, Red stepped out of the trunk and shook his head. "Yasu, there's no way in hell that she is going to wake up two days after the procedure, even if she is a fucking beast." He still hadn't forgotten how many punches it had taken to force her to vomit or how strong her _Ten_ had been. However, monster or not, there was no way in hell that she would wake up so soon.

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"Holy shit…" He stared down at narrowed bright green eyes, eyes that should not have been opened three days after the procedure. "She _is_ a monster."

It was the eleventh day—pay day. Three days since the Yasu had finished her Hatsu.

A check in hand, Red had just returned to the room he had rented at the drop off point—a rural, old-fashioned Japanese hotel—when Yasu had rushed over to him, clinging and mentioning a "she" and more about "awake" and "monster". He had stepped into the room where they kept Gingersnap on a traditional bed, rolling his eyes when he saw she hadn't moved. Then he moved closer and saw that Yasu was right—she was awake. And angry.

What scared him more than her unexpected consciousness was the clarity in her hate-filled eyes. They weren't glazed over or unfocused with pain; the suffering wasn't absent but her gaze was clear, cold. Like the stare of someone who hadn't aged three years in seven days. Like the look of a predator concentrating on how to kill its prey slowly, painfully.

Her lips and jaw moved slowly, but nothing came out. She wasn't capable of making noises yet, not with how trashed her voice was from screaming for long intervals over a week. But Red read her lips. "Die," she was slowly mouthing, "die." Her aura felt completely different—sinister, restless, bloodthirsty and laced with violent undertones. Way too fucking dark for his taste.

Red smirked when he remembered she was helpless. It was like he had said. Even if Gingersnap somehow overcame the pain through willpower, her muscles wouldn't respond to her brain's commands. Her muscles had atrophied from "three years'" worth of disuse.

He eyed her with mild amusement. "You've Switched, haven't you? If you weren't in such a weakened condition, you would be a fearsome blood-thirsty killing machine but right now, in your state, you're at the same level as an injured animal—in pain, angry, and wanting to lash out."

She glared at him, a low rumble coming from her—a growl.

"Pathetic. You can't speak," he said, flashing her a vicious sharkish grin, "and you can't move to defend yourself. In fact, no one can hear you scream." Crouching down beside her, he enjoyed the way her aura flared and how her cute, round eyes narrowed even further. "This is for burning my arm," Red smirked before he flicked her forehead, right between her glaring eyes.

Her lips opened and a thin, raspy hiss came out of her wide, screaming mouth.

Satisfied with his vengeance, Red stood. "Thanks for your stuff, bitch." Turning around, he left her alone in the room, silently screaming in agony.

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Rebecca Williams stared down into the bustling streets of York Shin from a skyscraper window near the top floor. She bit her thumb with worry.

Her corporate partner, Higuchi Kimura, was dead.

_Dead_. _Murdered_.

It had been a complete shock to Rebecca to hear of his death from another underground rival before her own spies had reported Kimura's death to her. Not only were her spies some of the best in the underground market, but the rival had shown her a picture of her deceased corporate partner's body. The quality of the photograph—taken by a store-bought digital camera, not a professional—as well as several unanswered phone calls and emails to Kimura had confirmed her fears.

He had been killed, and he had been a Blacklist Hunter. One of the best, he had boasted.

Unable to find any security tapes, her spies suggested that a Zaoldyeck had been hired to do away with him.

The hired Zaoldyeck didn't scare her. The image of her business partner's bruised corpse hadn't disturbed her…much. The fact that the Corporation's underground rival had hired the Zaoldyeck to kill Kimura didn't surprise her. That Kimura had died within a month of the kill-Hisoka contract was not surprising either.

What _did_ frighten her was that her spies reported that the Zaoldyeck probably didn't reach Kimura first. Kimura's corpse had had too many bruises, minor injuries and a broken rib or two—an indication of a fight. Zaoldyeck assassins hardly left a mark on the bodies they delivered. Having hired a Zaoldyeck once, Rebecca knew this.

Someone had beaten the Zaoldyeck to Kimura's island hideout.

The Zaoldyeck had probably arrived to the island, only to find Kimura in the midst of an assassination attempt. Or, that was what Rebecca guessed. It was the only plausible explanation she could think of.

A few days ago, Rebecca Williams had flown to Japan to attend a meeting she scheduled with Kimura and her other corporate partner, Vicktor Spurgeone. The three had originally agreed that Kimura would meet with Spurgeone first, and then she would meet Spurgeone a day later after Kimura had flown out of Japan. With the meeting set up this way, if there was an assassination attempt, at least one of them would survive and keep Intelligence Corporation going. With Kimura dead, she had planned to discuss the possibility of replacing Kimura and had prepared a list of several candidates.

However, Spurgeone never showed or, rather, he had suddenly and mysteriously vanished a few hours before her arrival. No one could find him or his bodyguards. The perplexed Steamy Waterfall managers had checked their books—Spurgeone had signed in, but never signed out.

His few possessions were in his rented room, and his clothes had been neatly folded in a basket in the men's room. Rebecca Williams highly doubted Spurgeone had forgotten to sign out or snuck out of the hot spring clothed in nothing but a small white towel. The seventeen-year-old was a neurotic genius with a weak immune system.

Spurgeone, run away in a towel? Hell would sooner freeze over.

Unable to connect to the Internet or a cell phone tower in rural Japan, Rebecca had immediately flown back to the Intelligence Corporation Headquarters in York Shin. She had checked her email, checked her phone messages, checked her voicemail—and nothing. She had sent Spurgeone's head bodyguard an email. Spurgeone, being paranoid as he was, refused to own a cell phone or create any accounts online; he had even refused to tell her his head bodyguard's cell number. She only had his head bodyguard's email address.

For Spurgeone to up and vanish like a magician had made him disappear…

Rebecca closed her honey-brown eyes. "It can't be that clown," she murmured, her lips moving around her thumb. "Not his style. He doesn't care about the corpses, only the souls that they contained. The carnage would have been there..."

As she stood before the window, absently staring down at the ever-shifting streets and intersections below, there was a quick, sharp rapping on her office door. "Ma'am, a package," her assistant's muffled voice came through the thick door.

"Come in," Rebecca acknowledged, turning around. Her mental skimming through the list and styles of the assassins she had hired in the past came to a screeching halt when her eyes landed on an opened gift box in her assistant's hands. "What is that?"

Her assistant's face was pale, a bit green. "You need to see this ma'am. It was speed-delivered from Japan and arrived about ten minutes ago."

Curious, Rebecca pivoted and took a few steps over to her desk. Her assistant set down the colorfully wrapped gift box on her desk and excused himself—unusual, considering he waited for her to dismiss him. Rebecaa watched him leave hurriedly, frowning. Whatever was in the box had spooked and nauseated her assistant. Her honey-brown eyes lowered to the mostly closed flaps of the box. Her hand slowly grabbed the flaps and, with her determined resolve to face what was inside, Rebecca threw open the flaps.

The ashen decapitated head of Vicktor Spurgeone stared at her.

With a sharp scream, Rebecca stared back at his horrified expression. A foul stench—the smell of rotting meat—reached her nose and she gagged, shoving the box off the front of her desk. Her hand clapped over her mouth. She shut her watery eyes to compose herself, but behind the darkness of her eyelids, Vicktor's face stared at her. Gagging, she opened her eyes and leaned over her trash can, coughing.

It took her at least fifteen minutes to successfully stop herself from vomiting.

The first thing Rebecca did was to call the janitor and tell him to dispose of the head. She made the mistake of glancing over her desk, and saw the head had rolled out of the gift box. Spurgeone's dead blue eyes were on her. Closing her eyes and covering her mouth, Rebecca fought another resurgence of nausea. She stayed in this pose when the janitor entered her office and removed the gift box and the head; he was also sickened.

Someone had a perverse sense of humor, she thought dryly, reminded of the deadly, giggly clown. She knew assassins were a queer lot, but most of them didn't have this kind of perverse sense of humor. To go to the expense of speed-delivering a decapitated head in an expensive gift-wrapped box to another country…Most assassins wouldn't 'waste' their money on something like that.

Then something occurred to Rebecca Williams.

She was the last living member of Intelligence Corporation.

The assassin's next target would be _her_.

It _had_ to be the kill-Hisoka contract, she realized. The warmth seemed to leave her blood. Maybe this assassin _was_ the clown. He had found out about the contract and had gotten bored or irritated with killers hunting him down. After all, there were only two resolutions to a contract kill—the death of the target or the death of contractor. Perhaps Hisoka was trying to end the contract, and if it wasn't him, an unknown assassin was trying to end the contract prematurely.

Originally, Rebecca had agreed to the contract because it had a lot of benefits.

Hisoka had killed Kimura's wife, earning Kimura's oath of vengeance, which had started their talk of creating the contract. Then other pros came to light. The red-headed magician was also very unpopular and infamous; Kimura wasn't the only one who had a grudge against the deadly clown. It wouldn't be difficult to find people who wanted to kill him, especially with a huge monetary reward as a motivator. A contract kill would cut down on the number of assassins (which had inflated recently) and weed out the weaklings.

Personally, Rebecca had never believed that anyone would manage to off Hisoka, but like Kimura and Spurgeone, she wanted him dead if possible. The amount of media attention and credit Intelligence Corporation could gain if they took credit for killing Hisoka was unfathomable—an infamous public enemy and menace dead!

However, the odds were against her.

Kimura had been the strongest of the three of them—the ex-Blacklist Hunter, physically powerful, a pyro—and yet he had been the first to die. Then the weakest member—the seventeen-year-old neurotic genius with the weak immune system—had been murdered. Next she, Rebecca Williams, the middle person and only female, would die.

Rebecca felt herself shaking. "I-I don't want to die," she whispered, trembling. Almost involuntarily, her head turned and her honey-brown eyes landed on the bloodstain on her carpet. "I…I don't want to end up like that!" It wasn't worth it. This contract was not worth her life. She still had a corporation to run, she had so many weapons to design, so many handsome men she wanted...

Grabbing her phone, Rebecca Williams made the arrangements to call off the Hisoka contract and breathed a genuine sigh of relief.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

In rural Japan, Miko had no access to the Internet or a cell phone. Tsukasa and Tomoyo couldn't contact her. They had no idea where she was, especially after the Japanese hotel owner reported to Tomoyo that Miko had mysteriously disappeared from the hotel.

In her severely weakened condition, she kept herself hidden and never encountered other hired killers, not even ninja. When Miko actually gained consciousness, she was surprised and horrified to find that a month had passed—and she couldn't remember any of it.

She also had no idea that the contract had ended.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

**AN:** And on another side note, I am now the proud owner of a legit battle-ready samurai katana. As of tonight, there are a few less pumpkins in the world…

**Disclaimer:** Miko's current appearance was inspired by a cross between a starving kid from a third world country and Sadako from_ The Ring_ with long orange hair; the idea of a "Switch" came from Nightmare of the Zaoldyeck.

**Shi:** death (in this context); can also mean four, city, poem, or can be used as an honorific


End file.
